It Never Ends
by Aya Salim
Summary: Takes place after 10.10 - The Hunter Games. While solving a case, Sam and Dean run into a girl named Caroline Forbes, and it turns out that she and Dean have unfinished business from the time Dean was a demon. Dean/Caroline. SPN Canon & TVD AU.
1. Prologue

**A/N**: As mentioned in the summary, this fiction takes place after 10x10 in Supernatural and follows the story line of the tenth season. Although this is a SPN/TVD crossover, you don't have to have watched _**The Vampire Diaries**_ to understand this fiction. I'm not a fan anymore myself, so I won't be following the show's timeline. This in mainly a _**SPN**_ fiction, and I'll just be borrowing Caroline Forbes from her world and put her in our Winchester boys universe for my own sadistic joy. I hope you're not so confused by me right now! =D

**Summary**: Takes place after 10.10 - The Hunter Games. While solving a case, Sam and Dean run into a girl named Caroline Forbes, and it turns out that she and Dean have unfinished business from the time Dean was a demon. Dean/Caroline. **SPN Canon &amp; TVD AU.**

**Dedication**: Alex, although it's late, and the fact that you'll actually have to stick with me through this ride, I hope you'll eventually like how it turns out in the end. Happy Birthday, my sweet friend! *hearts*

**Warning**:Unbeta'd and rated T for language.

**Spoilers**: Up to 10x10 in Supernatural and season 1 in The Vampire Diaries.

Now, to the story. ;)

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**It Never Ends**

_**\- Epilogue -**_

''This is stupid.''

''Yeah, Dean. I got that from the first time you said it.''

''No, Sam, this is really stupid. Hell, I don't even know why I agreed to this in the first place.''

''We're already here, Dean, so you just might as well quit whining and try to enjoy.''

''Yeah, right.''

Sam chuckled, shaking his head at his brother fondly, although the knot in the pit of his stomach wouldn't unclench no matter how hard he tried for easiness or playfulness while talking to his brother these days. They were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the dark night and the clear sky with damp grass underneath their bent legs, and a cooler-box stocked with their favorite type of beer within easy reach.

Dean sat with his back resting against one of the front tiers of the Impala while Sam sat across from him, cooking hot dogs on the campfire he had managed to build after a couple of unsuccessful tries, and snarky remarks from his brother, few of minutes ago. He knew Dean hated camping, and if he was being honest with himself, Sam would think that this was one of his most stupid ideas by far.

Dean's world was falling apart at the seams and there they were, camping and cooking hot dogs instead of hitting each and every lore book they could find to figure out a way to get rid of the mark. But then again, this wasn't exactly camping, and after what happened with Metatron, they could really use a day off. They _needed_ a day off.

The night Dean had literally slipped away and out of his reach was still rewinding itself over and over again in his exhausted mind. He still couldn't shake off the vacant look he saw in his brother's eyes that night, the tremors that rippled through Dean's body under Sam's touch, his brother's labored breath like he wasn't getting enough air into his lungs before his trampling knees betrayed him and he collapsed into Sam's arms, unable to move, unable to speak or even breathe. Unresponsive. While Sam was completely and utterly helpless.

It was more than Sam could handle. The whole situation was getting more and more out of control, forcing him to hardly let his brother out of his sight, keeping him holding on too tightly for the fear that if he let go he would lose his brother to his darkness for good this time.

The younger Winchester swallowed hard and tried to shrug off his fear—for now. He was still not sure how he was able to convince Dean to get out of the bunker to get some air and do something different instead of their daily pattern of barely sleeping and researching all day long. He suspected that there might have been something that gave him away, something that might have stood out on his face and screamed his worry and fear. But he wouldn't dowel into it that much. Sam was just glad that his plan was being put into motion.

''Careful now or you're gonna burn the only food we've got. And I'm telling you, Sammy, I ain't gonna eat whatever fruits you find out there.'' Dean said, nodding towards the stretched field in front of them. His words were probably aimed to sooth Sam's worries and bring him back from the dark place he was heading to in his mind land, but Sam could still hear the annoyance and weariness in his brother's tone.

It wasn't like Dean would start eating willingly these days, anyway.

''Shut up, I'm an expert cook.'' Sam threw back at him, finding comfort in their easy banter, even if it was just a façade which floods of fear of what was to come hid behind.

''Says the guy who used _salmon_ in a birthday cake's ingredient.'' Dean chuckled.

''I was five, Dean!'' Sam scowled, alternating his attention between the flames that hungrily licked at the hot dogs at the end of his metal stick, and his brother's bloodshot eyes that reflected the dancing fire.

''Whatever, dude. You used salmon!'' Dean insisted and reached inside the cooler for a beer. Sam nodded his thanks as Dean handed him a bottle and watched him take a long sip from his own.

A comfortable silence, which the ticking campfire interrupted constantly, settled between them and Sam focused on proving his cook skills and not burning the food. He was just stuffing the finally cooked hot dogs into sandwiches when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eyes. Lifting his head up, he watched silently as Dean got up and opened the driver's seat door to his baby and turned the radio on.

_All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground  
And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land  
Trying to find, trying to find where I've been._

Sam didn't fail to notice Dean's newest habit. Dean had always had to have music playing in the background whenever he was trying to either shut the world off, or keep his unwanted thoughts inside. But lately, the music was constant; it was the new type of noise that followed his newly-quiet brother through the bunker, on the road, everywhere.

_Dean used to be the noise_, Sam blinked at the thought. He couldn't remember the last time his brother was _alive_ enough to make noises like he used to. Now all there was was the unnerving quietness, the worrisome empty stares, and the fearful flares of anger that accompanied the mark.

Letting his gaze fall down to the task in hand, Sam neatly put the food together and handed his brother a plate. Aside from the playing music in the background, they ate quietly, not trading any words except Dean's praise for Sam's cooking even though he took only one bite before putting his plate down. Sam sighed, finishing his own sandwich and kept watching his brother.

''You know staring is creepy, right?'' Dean said without taking his eyes off the beer bottle label that his fingers were picking at.

''Sorry,'' Sam huffed, embarrassed. He didn't even know he was doing it.

''What the scariest thing you can think of, Sam?'' The question caught Sam off guard and he turned he gaze back to stare at his brother, who had a serious look on his face and was still not looking at him.

It took him a while to process the question and the meaning behind it, but it didn't matter why Dean was asking him this. His brother was unintentionally initiating a chick-fleck moment, and Sam would definitely bite.

''Losing you,'' He said without hesitation, putting everything he was feeling, but not able to verbalize, in those two words. ''Again.''

Dean just nodded slowly, either humoring Sam or having already known what he would say before even asking, and Sam liked to assume it was the latter. The still blaring music from the Impala's radio was the only reply he received.

_But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do  
When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do  
You don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through_

''Why?'' The younger man asked after he was sure that his brother wasn't about to add anything further.

Dean shrugged, still not looking at him, which was starting to get on Sam's nerves. ''Nothing. I'd just be a lot easier, y'know.''

''What'd be easier?'' Sam whispered, feeling as if a grip of iron was being wrapped around his heart and squeezing, hard.

''If we just … give in.'' Dean finally looked at him then and Sam wished he didn't.

_No._

The despair and hopelessness he saw in his brother's eyes could swallow him whole. He wanted to turn his face, look away, but he couldn't. Not now.

Sam didn't miss the _'we' _that Dean intentionally chose to throw in instead of _'I', _because he knew, _he knew, _that Sam wouldn't stop at anything this time to save him. And he's asking Sam to just, what? Let him go? The fucking son of a bitch!

''No!'' Sam roared, getting up and around the fire before he got down on his knees once again next to his brother and couldn't help but notice how small Dean looked at that moment. How broken he was.

''No, Dean.'' He said again, a little softer, trying to reach out to his brother the only way he knew. ''You don't get to quit. _We_ don't get to quit, Dean. We're the only thing we have, man!'' Sam was outright pleading now, never breaking eye contact with Dean, unconsciously echoing his own words from the time he cured his brother.

He watched Dean swallow visibly, and turn his head away from Sam's piercing gaze, and it only made the grip around his heart squeeze harder until his chest was going to explode.

''We've reached this far. I believe in you, Dean. You can do this.'' Sam said with conviction. ''We can do this.'' Dean just looked at him.

''Promise me you won't give up, man. Please.'' Sam held his breath, waiting for the answer he needed to hear. The answer he wanted Dean to believe in.

It seemed to take ages to Sam, but he finally heard the words being spoken softly.

''I promise, Sammy.''

_Out there in the spotlight, you're a million miles away  
Every ounce of energy, you try to give away  
And the sweat pours out your body, like the music that you play  
Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed  
With the echoes of the amplifiers, ringin' in your head_

_**\- TBC.**_

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**Playlist;**

_Kashmir by Led Zeppelin _

_Turn the Page by Metallica _

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Thank you for reading!

Aya S.


	2. 1 - Victoria's Secret Fashion Show

**Disclaimer - They're not mine. More's the pity.  
**

**Summary/Warning - **Check previous chapter.

**A/N - **In this chapter, the POV's are switched from Dean's to Sam. Hope you enjoy.

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**1 - Victoria's Secret Fashion Show**

It was nearly noon when the sour smell of coffee hit Sam's nostrils and raised him from his slumber. Last night they decided to crash at the nearest motel they could find since neither of them was exactly sober to drive all the way back to the bunker, not after draining the cooler of all the bottles of beer it contained.

Following the smell, Sam rolled to his right on the bed and saw his brother sitting at the small kitchenette table with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop.

''Mornin','' Sam grunted as he sat up and rubbed his sleep-itchy face with his hands, smoothing his messy bangs out of his eyes in the process. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Dean looking at him in amusement.

''Morning, sleeping beauty.'' He said, taking a gulp of his coffee. ''Thought you were gonna sleep through the whole day.''

''How long you been up?'' Sam flicked his eyes towards Dean's still made up bed.

Dean looked at his watch before he answered. ''A while.''

In Sam's dictionary, _probably haven't even slept_. The younger Winchester sighed before he stood up and gathered his shaving kit to get his morning rituals done with and went to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes and a shower later, Sam put on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and went back into the room to find Dean hadn't budged from his position. He poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned his back against the counter, facing his brother.

Last night was somewhat refreshing. It had been a long while since they sat and talked about practically nothing and tried to forget that anything else but the two of them existed.

Now though, they were back to reality. Back to Dean almost manically searching for a way to remove the mark and Sam worrying himself sick trying to keep his brother on a short leash.

Before Sam could utter any word, Dean broke the comfortable silence.

''So, you ready for a short trip to Baltimore?'' Sam arched a questioning brow at Dean. Going to Baltimore wasn't exactly what he expected to hear. He had expected that Dean would want to bolt and be on the road to the bunker as soon as Sam could open his eyes without squinting.

''What, you wanna spend another day in the middle of a nameless field, eating hotdogs?'' He mocked.

''No, I wanna book a fancy honeymoon suite there and stay in bed all night watching Victoria's Secret Fashion Show with you, Samantha!'' Dean threw back effortlessly. Sam approached the mini-table and sat across from his brother. ''Smartass!'' He said without heat, watching the corner of Dean's mouth lift in a tiny smirk.

''It's a case,'' Dean said in a way of explanation. ''A whole family was found dead in their beds a couple of days ago, only their youngest kid was found alive. Police reports says there was no sign of struggle or forced entry.''

''Could be just a psycho attack.'' Sam rationalized.

''Well, it also says here that the kid was admitted in Baltimore's Children's Mental Health Center for _traumatically_ claiming that he helped _the_ _shadow_ kill his parents and sister.'' Dean finished reading and looked up smugly at his brother.

And it was sealed.

They were definitely going to Baltimore.

...

Sam wasn't about to refuse the chance to keep Dean out of the bunker for a few more days, to get Dean working on an actual hunt and keep him distracted, instead of his scary new habit of staying still and silent all the time.

Out of curiosity though, Sam was wondering where Dean's sudden urge to take this hunt was coming from. given that Sam had to practically drag him outside of his solitary and into fresh air the previous day.

Well, it wasn't about curiosity, not completely anyway. It was more about him worrying—which was Sam's newest habits these days. Sam was simply worried.

''Sam, anybody ever told you before that you think too loud?'' Dean's voice came from the car's driver seat, successfully interrupting Sam's train of thoughts.

''Huh,'' He looked at his brother as Dean averted his eyes back to road, easing the impala into the narrow streets of Baltimore.

They were on their way to the Children's Mental Health Center to try to speak to the kid who survived—the only member left of the Melton's family.

''Would you try and relax a little, please? I'm not about to ditch you in the car to go slit some random men's throats.'' The last line was obviously meant to be said casually, but Sam could easily pick up on the slight panicky pitch in Dean's voice. _Please, don't let me do it again. _

Sam simply looked at his brother, words trapped in his throat.

''You sure you want to do this?'' He was finally able to choke out.

Dean sighed loudly and looked away before he said, ''Yes, Sam. I'm sure.'' Sam just kept looking at him, expecting more to come.

''I just think it's better this way than being cramped between the walls and all books back there that's only job is to, you know, remind of me the stone-cold killer I am.'' Again, said casually. Almost.

And Sam almost choked on his tongue, ''Dean—''

''Look, Sam, let's just focus on the job here and just… forget it.'' _Forget that I still have the damned mark, forget that I'm turning into my worst nightmare, forget that I can't stop it from actually happening. _

And Sam still heard all of it, even though it wasn't said out loud.

As the Medical Center building came into view, Dean told him, ''Okay, so tell me about this kid.''

After heaving a dramatic sigh, Sam started, ''His name is Josh O'Bryan, twelve years old. Turns out that he was given to a foster family—The Milton's—after his real parents died in a car accident when he was eight.''

''Wow, no wonder they put the kid in a Mental hospital.'' Dean frowned, stopping the car in the parking lot of the building.

''Yeah.'' Sam replied distractedly, switching through the open windows on his laptop screen. ''Check this out, says here that 911 emergency center had received around five calls from The Melton's neighbors in the past couple years, each time reporting hearing shouting and crashes coming from the house. Also Josh's medical report states that there were obvious signs of physical abuse found on his body, which goes back before the time of the murder of the Melton's.''

''So what are we thinking? A mommy vengeful spirit protecting her kid from an abusive family?''

''Couple be.''

''Yeah, wouldn't blame her.'' Dean said, opening the door and getting out of the car. Sam following suit.

…..

After they talked to the kid—who turned out to be really traumatized—the brothers were back to square one. When they were finally able to assure Josh that they meant no harm and just wanted to know what had really happened that night, they were only able to decipher little information from the string of mumbled words he said. A shadow—who wasn't his mother's or father's for that matter—had appeared to him one night, inside his closet, after his foster father had beaten him up for breaking something inside the house.

And that was as far as they were going to get from the freaked out kid.

The only good side of their visit was discovering the fact that Dean hasn't lost his touch with kids, specially the scarred-for-life ones. It did loosen the grip of worry in the pet of Sam's stomach a little bit. There was still so much _Dean_ in there, even after everything he had gone through—was _going_ through. Sam mused.

It was only typical to check the house after that, and all they were able to find was a wild peep here and there coming from their EMF. No sulfur and nothing more than what the papers and police sheets reported.

Sam, though, didn't miss the way his brother had almost stumbled at the sight of blood-soaked sheets in the master bedroom that apparently no-one bothered to throw away, or the way the hand that held the flashlight shook slightly. And suddenly, to Sam, taking this hunt was a really bad idea.

''You okay?'' Sam whispered, not really sure whether because he felt like it wasn't appropriate not to whisper with the way death seemed to loom over the place and press against his body or just so he wouldn't startle his brother.

And despite Sam's thoughtfulness, Dean was still startled by the sudden noise. ''What? Yeah, I'm fine.'' Dean swallowed, frantically sweeping the room with his eyes one last time before lifting his gaze up to look at Sam. ''Why?''

''Nothing,'' Sam shrugged nonchalantly. It's not like he expected another answer anyway.

''So, are we done here?'' Sam nodded. ''Alright, let's go. This place is giving me the creeps.'' Dean said offhandedly and left the room, Sam's footsteps echoing his own.

….

An hour later, Sam and Dean entered a dinner for a lunch break. The place seemed achingly familiar to Dean, but he couldn't pinpoint when exactly he had been here before. He shrugged to himself as a waitress showed them to a booth at the corner of the room.

The waitress poured them coffee and told them to call for her when they have decided what to eat, Dean gave her a half smile, which still—in his worst days—made the waitress blush.

He blocked the sight of Sam shaking his head by the scalding-hot cup of coffee and took a deep gulp.

''Man, I'll never wrap my head around how you do that.'' Sam said, looking at him in wonder, thumbs trailing the menu papers unconsciously.

Confused, Dean replied, ''Do what?''

Still smiling, Sam just shook his head again and signaled to the waitress, even though Dean hasn't had the chance to touch his menu, yet. It wasn't like he was hungry anyway. He was never hungry these days… expect for one thing.

No. He wasn't going there. He shook his head to get rid of the thought.

''So, what about breakfast for lunch?'' Sam was saying. ''Since you hauled our asses here even before we had the chance to eat breakfast and all,'' He continued when Dean's only reply was silence.

''Yeah, okay.'' Dean shrugged. It didn't really matter to him. He would stuff his face with whatever Sam threw at him if it meant that the kid would lay off him a bit.

''Alright, then. You're lucky this place serves breakfast till now.'' Sam had barely finished talking before the waitress approached their table.

''So, are you guys ready to order?'' It wasn't the same waitress from before, her voice was different. Her voice was _familiar_. Dean thought and looked up at the blond waitress, who had the name _Caroline_ carved into her name tag.

The waitress' smile fell the second her eyes landed on him and Dean felt the coffee he had just consumed rising back up in his throat.

_''Dean?'' _

**_\- tbc .. _**

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Cliffy ending? Yeah sorry about that *evil grin* And I'm sorry if the story is going so slowly for you, but it's gonna be kinda a slow build, just so you know ;)

Thanks for reading and have a nice day!

Aya S.


	3. 2 - What the Hell?

**Disclaimer - They are not mine, more's the pity.**

**Warning - **This chapter is kinds ''steamy''. Though not really explicit, I just thought to give you a heads up as not to offend anyone's sensibilities.

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**2 - What the Hell?**

_**Flashback,**_

He was hot.

It was the first thing she thought of the second she laid her eyes on him. Scratch that, he was _freaking hot._ She watched him from where she stood behind the bar as he leaned against the pool table that was across the room and drained his third glass of beer—it wasn't like she was tracking every movement he made or the number of beers he consumed, not at all. It was just that watching him moving gracefully around the place and bending across the pool table with sure movements and a cocky smile, as the muscles hidden under the thin layer of the red shirt he wore rippled and flexed each time he hit his cue stick to the ball, was a pleasure she wouldn't deny herself.

Okay, so she was definitely tracking every movement he made. It wasn't like she was the only female in the room doing it anyway.

She wasn't that lucky, though. One minute she was hungrily watching the man who was now throwing darts with flawless aim, the second she heard her boss' warning ringing in her ear. Obviously, there were other people in the place, waiting for their glasses to be refilled besides the hot guy who hadn't even looked towards her since he entered the bar. Which was a couple of hours ago.

Reluctantly, she averted her gaze off of him and started paying attention to her work and bemused regulars.

She was almost distracted when she turned and found him sitting on the bar stool right in front of her. He smirked knowingly and her breath hitched in her throat she almost dropped the glass of beer she was holding.

''Hey, um...'' She stammered, her eyes going a little wider than she would have liked. She put the glass on the counter before it had the chance to slip from between her fingers. ''What can I get you?''

''Scotch,'' He said slowly, drawing the word out. His eyes roamed over her body before he added. ''Make it double.''

Letting out the breath she didn't realize she was holding, the bartender turned to pick up the Scotch bottle and a clean glass, the beer and the man or the woman who ordered it already forgotten.

She barely sat his drink in front of him before he picked it up and tipped back the stinging liquid. She watched him lick his lips—which were perfectly full, she observed—almost forgetting to breathe in the process. He tipped the glass rim for another drink.

''I'm Dean by the way,'' He said after draining his second shot, the smirk never leaving his face.

''Caroline,'' She jerked her chin in acknowledgment, trying for confidence but knowing from his widening smirk that she was failing miserably.

''Well, Caroline, when does your shift end?''

….

Once her shift was over, he… well, Dean, walked her to what she noticed was his motel room. And just to be clear, she wasn't a slut. She wasn't some kind of a hooker who slept with every man who asked her when her shift ended—who were a lot by the way—and even though something about this man, who was now guiding her inside the room by a gentle hand on the small of her back, screamed danger she simply couldn't resist. Which why she doubted anybody would have blamed her.

Her train of thoughts was cut off abruptly when she felt herself being shoved not too gently against the room's closed door and she couldn't help but throw herself into the moment. It was what she was here for after all. They tore at each other's clothes, uncovering pale-golden flesh and completely exposed themselves to each other. Caroline allowed herself to drink in the sight of his solid, bare chest and abs, the strong muscles and lean body before she was enveloped between his strong, sure arms.

Somewhere in the middle she found herself on his bed and Dean on top of her before his lips spread into what could only be described as a devilish smile.

His capable hands were able to elicit the most tingling sensations with the simplest of touches and gestures and she gasped, feeling him smile against her hot flesh. His body moved confidently and he played her effortlessly like a well-practiced instrument.

It had been a long time since she has been with anyone. A long time to adjust to the new life she threw herself into instead of her old one. Long enough to overcome the feeling of ants crawling beneath her skin whenever someone touched her like this.

Caroline let her arms roam over his solid back and shoulders before her slim fingers snaked their ways through his soft hair and held on for dear life as they became one.

It was tender at first, they moved together in sync and heat that engulfed their bodies. Everything started building up almost to the point of climax before she found his delicate lips sealing hers, sucking the air out of her body, then his mouth drifted lower and bit at the tender flesh of her jaw and lower until his teeth bit _hard_ into her neck.

Her eyes flew open—which she didn't remember closing—and froze. Dean didn't seem to be aware of her sudden stillness though and so he kept going. Caroline was only able to break free from her haze when Dean's teeth sank deeper into her tender flesh and the bite became hard enough to break skin.

The dark film of her past, which she was still working so hard to bury and leave behind, flashed through her mind in slow motion. She pushed at Dean's shoulder with all the strength she had but it seemed like he wasn't going to let her go before he got what he wanted from her. Whatever that was.

Breathing suddenly became a very hard task, especially with the weight of the man crushing her chest. The fog wrapped around her mind made it even harder to keep the images of the past and the present separate. But it didn't matter whether it was the past or the present; in each case she was experiencing the same version of her personal Hell.

''Stop!'' She shouted at first, her strength leaking fast and soon she found herself sobbing and begging for him to stop. ''Stop it, please. Please, _Damon_, just stop, _please_!''

She could feel the tears running down her temples and sinking into her now-messy blond hair and finally registered that there was no movement anymore, from her or the man still on top of her.

''Who?'' The voice practically growled at her and she opened her eyes and found herself face to face with _Dean. _

_Crap!_

''Dean,'' She could hear the fear in her voice and held her breath as his intense gaze peered down at her. But after the initial shock passed, she found herself pushing at his shoulder again and wiggling her body in an attempt to get away. And she considered herself lucky that he moved and got off of her.

As soon as she was free to move, she sprinted out of the bed and ran around the room, collected her scattered clothes off the floor and put them on in lighting speed while Dean was still on the bed, the sheets covering his lower body.

''What the hell was that?'' He snapped at her finally.

''What the hell was that? _I_ should be asking _you_ that!'' Despite her fear and shock, she found herself turning around to face him. It wasn't the perfect time to face her demons, sure, but she had already let herself be the victim of that species one many times.

''You _bit_ me!'' She screamed at him, pointing with her hand at the nasty puncture in her neck that was seeping a thin line of blood.

''So, what? Little rough and dirty never hurt anybody.'' He said almost too calmly, and if she wasn't so scared of him and so overwhelmed by the urge to run for the door and never look back, she would have walked the few steps separating them and slapped him. Hard.

She turned to leave but his words stopped her before her fingers could wrap around the doorknob.

''Hey, don't play the whole broken-taken-against-my-will victim on me. I'm not the one who'd spent the whole night eye-fucking you!'' She turned and gaped at him. ''And I'm surely not the hooker with ''issues'' here,'' He raised his finger in a mocking air-quote.

''Screw you!'' Her face crumpled into a mask of anguish as she stepped outside his room.

''You just kinda did, sweetheart!'' She heard him yell and chuckle before she cleared out of the building and the parking lot. She didn't stop until there was enough distance between her and the motel and she couldn't stand anymore.

Caroline finally collapsed to her knees in the middle of the streets and buried her head into her hands. She finally let shock and the gravity of the situation take over her in a wave of tears and chocked sobs.

When did she become a monster-magnet? And why did she seem to be destined to be fucked by them, in every way possible?

…..

_**Now, **_

''Dean?''

Sam's eyes turned towards their waitress' intense expression then landed back on his brother. He saw the color drain from Dean's face before a flash of green took over his features like he was going to throw up.

_What the hell?_

The scene seemed to unfold in slow motion around them. He watched the waitress take a step back, then another when Dean proceeded to get up. His brother's eyes never left the—for some reason—freaking out girl and Sam felt more than heard Dean's leg hit the table they were sitting at hard it made it rattle when he came to his full height and everything after that happened almost too quickly.

The sound of Dean's leg hitting the table seemed to snap the girl out of her trance and she turned around hastily and mostly ran towards what Sam assumed was the diner's kitchen. A sharp hiss and a sound of something break drew Sam's attention to his brother and his now-shattered cup of coffee on the floor and the remaining of its hot content soaking into his brother's jeans.

''Dammit!'' Dean snapped, his hand swatting at his right thigh annoyingly where a huge stain of hot coffee formed onto his jeans.

Unable to wrap his mind around what just happened, Sam got out of his chair and proceeded to help his brother. He gathered a clean napkin from the table and handed it to Dean who snatched it from his hand impatiently and without saying a word and started wiping his hand and clothes.

Another waitress came hurriedly towards them and started apologizing for her fellow's behavior and let them know that the coffee and the food they hadn't ordered yet was on the house. Dean's only response was a hollow 'it's alright' before he walked towards the bathroom and left Sam to reassure the waitress that it was okay and that they were sorry for the mess they made.

He turned and followed his brother into the men's room with the same thought in his mind.

_What the hell?! _

_**Tbc … **_

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Thanks for reading!

Aya S.


	4. 3 - Darkest Part

**Disclaimer - I own nothing, more's the pity. **

**Warning - **Shitload of angst and language.

Alex, I hope you're enjoying the ride ;)

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**3 - Darkest Part**

His knees nearly gave out from under him and if it weren't for the sink he managed to hold on to in the last second he would have been kissing the dirty tiles of the diner's similarly dirty bathroom right now.

_Fuck!_

Of all the places he could have chosen to have lunch at today he chose _this _place. And if the fact that he would cowardly rather hide and run from this than face it and take the blame for the mess he had made when he was a demon didn't make the pile come up rushing in his throat, he didn't know what would.

Dean stumbled towards the bathroom stalls and barely made it into the closest empty one before all the coffee he had consumed through the day decided to make another appearance.

Seconds later, he could hear pounding on the door but was too busy emptying his stomach contents to answer.

''Dean, are you okay?''

And leave it to Sam to ask the million-dollar question, like whether he was okay or not or everything was okay or not, when he already knew that _nothing_ was okay. Not since the day Dean borne the mark.

So instead of answering, Dean spat the taste of vomit in the toilet, flushed it and walked out of the bathroom stall and to the sink, bypassing his brother like he wasn't even there. Dean caught his own reflection in the stained mirror above the sink and averted his eyes quickly. He then rinsed his mouth and splashed his face with the cold water, and if Sam noticed the ashen, grey color of Dean's pale face, he chose not to point it out. And for that Dean was grateful.

Sam was a smart man. More than that, he understood Dean's mechanism, he knew when exactly to push and when to keep his mouth shut—especially lately.

So when he turned to face his little brother who was favoring him with an openly concerned expression, and couldn't really look him in the eye, Sam only said one word.

''Okay?''

''Fine.''

He was acting anything but fine and he knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to explain everything to Sam right now, if at all. His skin was already beginning to crawl and he needed to get out of here. He needed to get out of here now.

And maybe Sam was really able to read his mind because what he said next was, ''Okay, let's go.'' and turned to lead the way out of the small bathroom and the whole diner and Dean could have kissed him if he wasn't buried deep into the darkest part of his memories.

Dean couldn't help but catch a quick glimpse of the diner on his way out and found that Caroline was nowhere in sight and he was fairly certain that she was hiding. _Hiding from him._ Not that he could really blame her. Dean swallowed hard at the thought.

On his way to the Impala, he wondered if he would ever have the chance to talk to her again, would be ever able to explain to her what happened back then, not for his own sake but for hers. She deserved that much. He didn't expect her to ever forgive him anyway, even if everybody did, it wasn't like he would ever be able forgive himself.

….

Heavy silence hung in the air like a third company between the brothers. Neither of them said a word on their way back to the motel, but that didn't stop Sam from steeling glances at his brother every couple of minutes.

Dean's whole body was tense; he held the steering wheel with a death grip, enough to make his knuckles go white and his fingers to probably be hard to flex later, and his lips were clamped shut together, forming a thin line and making his jaw tighten to almost the point of breaking, the burn on his right thigh long since forgotten.

Sam tried to connect the dots and try to maybe partially understand what was going on but the dots weren't nearly enough and the gaps in between were so wide. Silently, he went through each time him and Dean were separated long enough for his brother to get into trouble with a _girl_, and the possibilities were too many to sift through given that they did separate more than Sam wanted to count. But after seeing Dean's reaction back there in the diner he was willing to bet that whatever happened between Dean and that girl was at the time his brother was still a demon.

Dean had that look on his face, the pained, guilt-ridden expression that only accompanied the mark and the whole demon thing. Sure his brother lived his whole life smothering himself in a wave after wave of guilt, but it had never been as massive as this. This was different—and Sam could actually understand.

He has been there once himself; he had succumbed to addiction and gave himself up to his own dark side. He had caused an irreparable damage to the world and hurt his brother in ways he could have never imagined he was able to. And it took him a very long time to come to terms with everything he had done and even more time to be able to make some peace with himself.

But unfortunately, knowing his brother, the world would end before Dean even considered the idea of forgiving himself. Sam sighed.

When they finally reached the motel, Dean got out of the car and into their room too fast and without a word and Sam took a minute to breathe through the panic that was for some reason starting to rise in his chest. He took two deep, calming breaths and followed his brother.

His efforts to stave off the panic were useless though, because what he saw when he entered the room almost crippled him with fear.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, elbows propped up on his thighs and his fingers were tightened into his short cropped hair, looking to the world like he was trying to pull it out or something. He was shaking badly and his body language screamed barely contained rage.

It wasn't until Sam crouched in front of his brother and touched his knee gently, afraid to startle him, that he realized Dean wasn't even aware of him being in the room before Sam touched him. His brother jerked violently, his head snapped up, and Sam found two wide eyes, with barely a hint of green in them, staring back at him with such naked fear.

''Dean?'' Sam nearly whispered, treating his brother like he would a wounded animal and slowly moved closer to put a reassuring hand on Dean's knee once again.

''Don't.'' The warning was clipped, and Sam stopped mid motion, staring at his brother whose expression hardened once again and wasn't looking at him anymore. ''Don't touch me!''

''Okay, alright,'' Sam raised his hands in a sign of surrender. He didn't understand what was going on; he couldn't even begin to grasp what the hell was happening in his brother's head. All he knew was that he needed to be very careful right now—any wrong move would set his brother off and Sam was mostly sure things would get ugly from there.

So he did the only thing he _could_ do. He stood and turned to sit on his own bed and waited his brother out. He didn't care how long it would take for Dean to snap out of it—whatever _it_ was—he would wait all the same.

After a while, Dean's hard breathing started to get back to normal, he stopped clenching and unclenching his fists and looked like he finally regained some control. It was Sam's cue to break the silence.

''You okay?'' He asked softly, and watched Dean nod and scrub his face with his hands.

''So, what was that back there at the diner?'' He pushed and watched Dean sigh and shudder like a five-year old would do after crying for hours.

''You don't really want to hear this one, Sam.'' Dean said tiredly, finally—_finally—_turning his head and looking at him.

''It doesn't matter,'' Sam said without missing a beat. ''I'll listen as long as you talk.''

Dean nodded, took a deep, shaky breath and began. ''Her name is Caroline. We met at the bar on the skirts of the town a coupla months ago—she worked there—and well, we hooked up and spent the night together.''

_A couple of months ago._ Dean left it to him to do the math, like he didn't even stand saying it.

''And…well, as you know, I was a dick back then and uh—um in the middle of _it_ she told me to stop and I – I didn't.'' Dean wasn't the one known to be shy when he talked about his sex life. In fact, more often than not he would be teasing Sam for being so awkward with women when it just came naturally to him. But right now he was having troubles putting the words together, but nonetheless, Sam understood what he was trying to say and felt his heart sink to his stomach.

Horrified, Sam didn't say anything as Dean seemed to be unable to stop talking now that he finally started so he listened. ''She thrashed and _screamed_ and I just kept going, and that wasn't just it. There was something _wrong_ with her, I mean not physically, like a trauma or something. She was hysterical and I –'' Dean stopped, and Sam saw him swallow a couple of times as if trying to hold back a wave of nausea before he continued.

''I—_gosh—_I fucking _taunted _her, Sam! After I finally let her go. And that's not even all of it.''

_There's more?_ Sam almost blurted out, his eyes long since gone wide at the horror story Dean was telling.

''The next day we—I went to the bar to find her but she was long gone, left the job but not the town. And so help me God, I fucking tracked her down and found her working at a diner—_that_ damn diner.'' Dean gritted out from between clenched teeth, his right hand rubbing absently over the burnt flesh under the jeans of his right thigh.

Sam didn't miss the 'we' in Dean's story, which probably referred to him and Crowley, but he still said nothing. It was almost physically painful to watch his brother like this and Sam almost asked him to stop, told him that he didn't need to go further, that he didn't want to know the rest—that it didn't matter. Except that he had to know and it did matter.

''I don't know exactly what I had in mind then, I don't know why I followed her, but it really doesn't matter anyway. It's not like I need a frigging reason to hurt people for my own sadistic pleasure.'' Self-loathing was leaking from every word Dean said and Sam wanted to protest. He could almost see it in his own mind. Like a black, bitter acid dripping in tow with the words coming out from Dean's mouth and burning and eating at the skin of Dean's lips, chin, neck, face and every piece of flesh it reached or touched.

''What happened then was a version of what happened today, only messier.'' Dean continued. ''She freaked out when she saw me and I went to grab her but the manager or whatever jumped me first and – let's just say he didn't know what he was up against. He barely got out alive, by then someone had called the cops and Crowley had to drag me outta there before things got ugly. Well, uglier.'' Dean finished with a bitter smile, and buried his head into his hands once again.

Sam was silent for a moment and surely Dean wouldn't blame him. It was a lot to take in, so damn hard to believe. But then again, Sam was there to watch Dean beat the shit out of an innocent man and slash at him physically and emotionally. He was there for Dean to play _him_, to taunt _him_. To try to _kill him._

But that wasn't Dean. That wasn't his brother. It was a demon. Except it still was Dean. And at this very moment Sam had squat to say to.

''It wasn't you, Dean.'' He finally said after a long moment of silence, because _dammit_, that _thing_ wasn't his brother. He knew Dean more than anyone in the world, and Dean had so much light inside him that could easily outweigh the darkness. And if that wasn't true, he wouldn't be suffering too much now for what his demonic self had done.

He saw Dean's eyes snap up to meet his with an incredulous expression, like Sam had just grown another head, before he stood so fast it made them both dizzy for a second.

''Did you just not listen to a word I said, Sam?'' Dean yelled. ''I just told you I practically fucking _raped_ an already _traumatized_ girl and that wasn't even all of it and you tell me _it wasn't me_?''

''Because it _wasn't you_, Dean!'' Sam rose to his feet and used his height to tower over his brother. ''If I recall correctly, I was the one who _cured_ you!''

''Exactly, Sam!'' Dean yelled again. ''You were there; _you_ are the one who messed being beheaded by his own fucking brother by a frigging _miracle_.''

''It wasn't you.'' Sam stood his ground and repeated stubbornly and Dean just stared at him.

Taking a step back, Dean's face hardened before he said, ''Okay. Let's say you're right. Let's say that it wasn't me. But the one who slaughtered these guys not a week ago in cold blood? I'm pretty sure that was me, Sam.'' What started as a burst of anger ended into a whimper of his name.

''What is it gonna take to make you understand that this is who I am now, Sammy?'' Dean asked desperately, looking like he was on the brink of a meltdown or falling over right on his face. ''What is it gonna take to make you run as far away from me as possible and save yourself?''

Sam didn't even register moving, but once the words were out of his brother's mouth he found himself in Dean's face. His hands fisted Dean's shirt before he snatched him forward roughly that their faces were mere inches away and he could feel Dean's startled, harsh breath on his face.

''Nothing—_nothing_ will ever make me run away from you, Dean! Unless you forgot, we're in this _together!_''

''Sammy—''

''No! Don't 'Sammy' me! I get it, I really do. I know how hard it is to fight the mark every damn second of the day, Dean! I know how it seems fucking impossible to hold back the desire to do the one thing that will smother the noises—the one thing that gives you some sort of a fucked up relief. I know how it feels like it's not even worth it to fight anymore! But it's not true, Dean. It's fucking worth it and you can't give up, I won't let you!'' Sam was practically panting and had to let go of his brother—who was looking back at him with a pained expression—before he punched him.

''Besides, you never gave up on me. You never left me to face up against my own darkness alone, Dean. Even when I didn't even have a soul, you were there. Even when I tried to _kill you_—more than once, you were always still there and you _never_ left my side. Not once.'' Sam added softly after getting his desperation somewhat under control, but the swell of emotions was still rising in his chest and making his eyes sting with unreleased tears. ''Why would you think I wouldn't do at least the same for you?''

Dean swallowed, blinked and just like that all the emotions were erased off his face. He looked away then turned and walked to the door.

''I need some air.'' He said quietly and was out of the room before Sam even had the chance to call after him.

Mentally exhausted, Sam let his body fall on the bed and buried his head into his hands.

What was he supposed to do now?

_**Tbc .. **_

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I hope you enjoyed. Reviews are really appreciated.

**PS - **There's a new Wee!Chesters one-shot fiction coming up soon. Stay toned. ;)

Have a nice day!

Aya S.


	5. 4 - Already Damned

**A/N**_** -**_ I apologize for the late update, I've been a bit sick and wasn't able to finish the chapter until today. And also I want to thank all of you guys for the amazing support, reviews, alarms of any kind, you guys are made of awesomeness! I hope you enjoy the chapter ;)

**Disclaimer - **I own nothing, more's the pity.

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**4 - Already Damned.  
**

_''The thing about a hero, is even when it doesn't look like there's a light at the end of the tunnel, he's going to keep digging, he's going to keep trying to do right and make up for what's gone before, just because that's who he is.'' – Joss Whedon_

It was past seven and he didn't head back to the motel yet. Sam started calling him two hours after he had left their room but Dean didn't pick up, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even if he did, what was he going to say? He just kept driving around aimlessly with the radio on but he didn't really hear anything except the whirling thoughts in his head for the past…. Dean looked at his watch, has he been driving around for four hours straight now? Wow.

He checked his phone—which he had put on the silent mode after texting Sam that he was fine and _dude, stop calling already! _But of course, Sam wouldn't just _do_ whatever Dean told him to do, why would he make his life _that_ easy.

There were nine missed calls from his brother and two texts which contained the same colorful string of curses that Sam rarely let loose. He let the phone slip from his fingers and his head drop back on the seat and let out a heavy breath. Closing his eyes for a minute, Dean tried to calm himself down. Tried to rationalize his way around Sam's speech but whom was he kidding? If Sam was delusional enough to allow himself to believe in something so unlikely to happen—like Dean beating the mark—so be it, whatever, it wasn't like he could stop him even if he wanted. But he would be damned if he let false hope slip in between the cracks of the darkness that had become his soul only to shatter whatever pieces left of it when Sam was eventually proved wrong.

Dean snorted, because, fucking seriously, wasn't he already damned? What did he get to lose? And maybe…maybe that was where his brother was coming from after all. And maybe he was starting to lose it because he knew better than to think of Sam this way.

Deciding that that was enough me-time for him and that he really shouldn't be left alone with his dark thoughts, Dean looked around where he stopped the Impala and immediately recognized his surroundings. He was on the other side of the street where the damn diner stood glaring and mocking him.

Maybe he intentionally drove here, maybe his muscle memory brought him here, he couldn't really remember. And he didn't care, either. Because he could see her through the windshield, walking outside the backdoor of the diner across the street and towards an ally at the back of the building. And, boy did it seem like fate and circumstances were playing a fucking sick joke on him these days. And because he couldn't hide from it, not anymore, he was going to face her. And she had to listen this time.

She just _had to_.

Before he could think twice, he was out of the car and crossing the street and after a couple of hurried, wide strides he was two feet away from her. She stopped suddenly and turned to face him, as if she could feel him creeping up on her. And maybe she could. Because the look on her face spoke terror and paranoia, like she expected to be sneaked up on anytime and anywhere. And could he really blame her?

But unlike earlier she didn't run. She stood there, staring back at him in fear, looking like she was frozen to the spot.

Slowly, Dean lifted his hands and held them up in front of him in a surrendering gesture, then spoke, ''Caroline, I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.''

He saw her flinch at her own name rolling out cautiously from his lips, but otherwise she didn't look like she was ready to bolt, or like she was going to actually have a chat with him, either. But maybe this was his only chance to try to make it right, to make her understand, so he went on anyway.

''Please, just listen to me. Let me explain.'' She didn't flinch this time as he took a step forward. ''Please.''

He was standing at arm's length away from her now and felt a little flicker of hope rise in his chest that she might actually listen to him this time.

But before he knew what hit him, pain so hard, yet familiar, slammed into him with such force it made his knees buckle. He fell to the ground, his shoulder hitting the concrete hard as his body convulsed. He couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't _breathe_. And then he heard it again, the _tzzt, tzzt, tzzt _sound before it touched him again. Electricity coursed through his system, froze his muscles, a wave after wave of agony making him buck and writhe and then, as fast as it began, it stopped. And finally, _finally_ he could breathe.

Dimly, he could hear her shouting something like ''Stay the hell away from me!'' but he was unable to answer, to open his eyes. He could just lie there, on the ground, in the middle of the dark ally and pull a raged breath after another until the agonizing pain finally started to abate.

Dean gasped weakly, tears slipping unwillingly from eyes pressed tightly closed. His ears were ringing, his head was swimming, and he could hear the blood rushing into his ears and feel the sour taste in his mouth.

Carefully blinking against the grayness threatening to take over his blurry vision, he took stock of his surroundings, and was surprised—yet, relieved—that no one had noticed what happened in the ally. He was grateful there was no one out there about to beat the shit out of him for harassing a girl, or worse; give him a reason to lash out and slit some throats and break some bones and rip apart some hearts only with his two, bare hands. And wouldn't that be just an epic way to end his day!

He was grateful that he was alone, partially hidden in the dark where he belonged, where no one could hear his sick thoughts, where no one could see the mark glowing red beneath his jacket sleeve, where no one could see the great Dean Winchester, the demon hunter, but mind you, an ex-demon himself, getting tased by a fucking girl.

And he sure as hell appreciated the fact that there was no one to hear him laughing almost manically at the thought.

**….**

He was going to kill him. The second he laid his eyes on him, he was going to beat the shit out of him first then he was going to fucking kill him.

_The Stupid bastards! _

After trying to call Dean for the umpteenth time to no avail, Sam resisted the overwhelming urge to throw the phone against the wall only because he would need it if he was able to get his stupid jerk-for-a-brother on the damn phone.

It had been almost five hours and he hadn't come back yet, but that wasn't even the problem. It was the fact that each time he tried to call his brother for the past three hours there was no answer. And that wasn't how they worked.

Surely they would sometimes need to walk it off, blow off some steam, or in Dean's case drink himself to death, but they would always keep tabs on each other. Especially with their kind of life now—of _Dean's_ recent life. They had to, _dammit_.

He couldn't track his brother's phone because, naturally, Dean deactivated the GPS on his phone, and Sam couldn't even leave the room in case Dean came back hurt and needed his help.

He was literally restrained, and it was his brother's entire fault.

Sam was going to kill him.

The youngest Winchester was so sure that tonight was the day he finally granted Dean his ultimate wish by being bald after spending the whole after noon pulling at his hair with vengeance and frustration. His hands were buried deep in his—what Dean liked to call—girlish hair when he heard the best sound in the world. He sighed in relief as the roar of the Impala came closer to their room and bolted towards the door.

Sam opened the door just as his brother was putting his baby into park and was getting ready to tear into Dean for almost causing him to have a heart attack. The words died in his mouth though the second his eyes dropped on his brother.

Dean got out of the car stiffly, like he could barely move his body, his left arm was tucked towards his middle like the many times Sam watched his brother do when he got shot. His jacket and jeans were dirty as if he took a dive into a mud pool and he was as pale as a white sheet.

''What the hell happened to you?'' Sam exclaimed, frozen to his spot in the motel doorway.

Dean didn't answer, he just walked stiffly through the door and Sam followed him.

''Dean?'' Still no answer. ''What the hell, man?'' He wasn't ready for his brother's yelp when Sam grabbed his right arm and turned him not so gently to face him.

Dean almost fell to his knees but luckily Sam was fast enough to catch him mid-fall and lower him on the closest bed.

''What the fuck, Sam?'' Dean glared at him and was pushing at his hands as soon as he was seated.

''You asking me? Why do you look like you've gone into a fight with a freaking Taurus?'' Sam asked incredulously.

Dean just looked at him for a long moment and for some reason Sam felt self-conscious under his brother's intense gaze.

''What?'' He finally asked, exasperated.

''A Taurus? Really?'' Dean said seriously. And it was Sam's turn to give him his infamous bitch-face.

''Stop screwing around, Dean!''

''Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist, Samantha.'' Dean said as he leaned forward and caught the strap of his duffle bag and hauled it onto the bed.

''Nothing happened. Just a bar fight, which one of the assholes who run the place insisted we take outside, is all.''

Sam wasn't buying it, not even a little bit. And the fact that Dean busied himself with rummaging through his bag so he wouldn't have to look him in the eyes was proof enough. But he decided he would go along until he pried the truth from Dean's lips. Two could play this game after all.

''A bar fight, ha?'' He sat on the edge of the other bed in front of Dean.

''Want a freaking picture?'' Dean growled, looking at him.

''No, no, I believe you. I'm just wondering how you got out of there in one piece, without even a cut, without any back up.'' Sam let the note of sarcasm seep into his words as he lifted a finger to point at Dean's pale, but scars-clear face as well as his knuckles.

Dean stared at him suspiciously for a moment, like he was trying to get the meaning behind his words that wasn't sarcasm, before a bitter smirk took over his features.

''Oh, don't worry. There are no bodies that you have to bury or burn this time.''

Sam's stomach dropped to his knees. That was _**not**_ what he meant. But leave it to Dean to twist his words to fit whatever sick feelings he was trying so hard to hide.

''That's not what I mean, dammit!'' He sprang to his feet and stood, looking angrily at him. ''Don't twist my words around, Dean!''

''Whatever, Sam.'' Dean scoffed and rose to his feet with clean change of clothes in his hands. ''I really need to shower so if we can have the rest of the conversation later, that would be awesome. 'Kay? Thanks.'' And for the second time today, Dean was out of his sight and behind the slammed shut door of the bathroom before he could even answer.

And this time Sam hurled the nearest pillow at the closed door which it hit with a muffled thud.

''Stupid jerk!''

**_TBC.._**

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**Alex, **thanks for the quote inspiration, dear! *MWAH*

I hope this isn't going too slow for you guys, if you read any of my other fictions then you know that I'm a details-freak and just like to give the plot its time to grow. I was going to end the chapter at the part where poor Dean was laughing at the ally but I wanted to give you more since it's been a while since the last update. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and remember; reviews are like chocolate cookies ;)

Thanks for reading. Have a great weekend.

Aya S.


	6. 5 - Struggle Within

**A/N-** I apologize for the late update; exams and real life got in the way and I also had to re-write the second half of the chapter because my computer went nuts and lost the original file and nearly drove me insane *eye roll* and I SWEAR the first part was written two weeks ago and any similarities between it and the last aired episode is completely a coincidence!

I hope you enjoy!

**Warning - Unbeta'd; all mistakes are mine!**

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**5 - Struggle Within**

_Home is not a home, it becomes a hell_  
_ Turning it into your prison cell_  
_ Advantages are taken, not handed out_  
_ While you struggle inside your hell_

_ Reaching out_  
_ Grabbing for something you've got to feel_  
_ Closing in_  
_ The pressure upon you is so unreal_

_..._

She was screaming.

He had her pinned against the wall among others by nothing but his powerful demonic abilities which he started practicing lately. Women, men, old, young... they all screamed in tandem for him to stop but her scream was louder, more piercing, and for some unknown reason, it shook him to the core.

Dean visibly shook himself, blinking black eyes at his audience who were pinned against the wall in front of him like sheep waiting to be slaughtered. His right hand tightened around the worn leather of the first blade's handle and raised it in front of him, high enough so the deadly weapon was in everybody's view.

His newest victim's blood coated the blade and dripped from the tip to the floor as he paced the dark room and coolly eyed his pries for the next chosen one.

Then she shrieked again. He turned into her direction, putting all his powers into making her stop but she only screamed louder. It was filled with anguish so extreme it radiated from her and hung above the place like a heavy cloud of pain ready to rain crimson all over their heads. Her roar of ambush clung to the air like the scent of death; it crossed the short distance separating them and crept over Dean's body like unrelenting fire.

He tried to turn away but found that he couldn't move. Something was moving up his right hand and when he looked down he found his hand and forearm painted in thick, dark blood. It crawled along the length of his arm to his shoulder, caressed the side of his neck like the new lover it was before it climbed up his cheek, coating the whole right side of his face and viciously poured itself inside his mouth.

Dean choked on the blood, the blade dropping from his hand which joined its twin around his neck, desperately clawing at his throat for air and ended up gagging and choking harder on the heavy, coppery tasting blood. Then the horrifying howling stopped. He looked up and saw her standing right in front of him; a fierce expression itched on her face and her blond hair was flying around her head in long, wild strands, while she watched him choke on the blood of his victims to death.

Unable to breathe, Dean tore his eyes away from the hate he saw in her angry, blue eyes and fell unceremoniously to his knees and tightened his eyes shut, barely aware of the blood that was now covering every inch of his body. A scream that sounded like it had come from somewhere deep and dark rose from behind him but he was too far gone to pay attention to anything anymore.

He was fairly certain he was about to die.

….

_Struggle within, it suits you fine_  
_ Struggle within, your ruin_  
_ Struggle within, you seal your own coffin_  
_ Struggle within, the struggling within_

_..._

There was no real transition between nothing and everything this time.

One second he was wrapped into the warm arms of the darkness of a dreamless sleep, the next he was blinking at the stained, damp ceiling above his bed. He wasn't sure what woke him up but seconds later he heard it.

A low chocked, barely-contained scream.

Sam was out of his bed and standing at Dean's before he even registered moving. He looked down at the rigid form of his brother on the sweat-damp bed. Dean was paler than the sheet he laid above; a wide, dark V of sweat was formed into the front of his grey t-shirt and a thick sheen of sweat blistered his hair to his forehead. His lips were slightly apart, moving around a mumble of an unrecognizable string of words, his right hand was clenched too tight around the comforter while the left one was scratching violently at his throat. At loss of what to do, Sam just stood there and watched his brother writhe on the bed. He knew he couldn't touch his brother in the middle of a nightmare or they both would really regret it, but he couldn't let Dean hurt himself, either.

It wasn't until Dean started to shake violently on the bed and looked like he wasn't getting enough air into his lungs that Sam broke into action.

''Dean!'' He called out; crouching to his knees to be in his brother's bed level, but Dean didn't seem to be hearing him so he shouted again. ''Dean, wake up! DEAN!''

Sam was almost knocked to his hunches as Dean bolted upright in the bed and started sucking in a breath after another like a man just breaking the water's surface. Sam watched in puzzlement as his brother's right hand shot up to his chest and Dean began digging the heal of his hand and rubbing hard where his heart was safely locked away behind blood and bones and thick skin. He used his other hand to support his own obviously dead weight and after a few seconds of listening to the wheezing and gurgling sounds coming from his big brother's throat, Sam knew what was happening.

The younger Winchester shot up to his feet and was able to bring and place the dirty trashcan under his brother's chin in the last second before Dean started heaving. There was nothing to come out though, given the fact that his older brother didn't even eat anything the whole day and—as Sam recalled—had already puked whatever fluids he had had earlier at the freaking dinner.

It was terrifying; he never saw Dean have a nightmare as vicious as this one before, not one he witnessed anyway, not even when Sam knew he was dreaming about Hell, and Sam found himself shaking as well as his brother and had to take a few steady, calming breaths before he moved again.

After making sure that Dean wasn't going to throw his guts up, Sam removed the trashcan away and put a gentle, yet a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. He gave him a gentle squeeze and decided to give him—and maybe_ himself_ too—a moment to regroup and take in his surroundings before he said anything.

''Dean, you with me?'' He asked after a couple of minutes and watched Dean's face intently as his dazed, unfocused eyes moved from a piece of furniture to another, eyes hitting nothing, and tightened his grip on his left shoulder. ''Dean?''

Dean turned to look at him as if drawn to the sound of his name coming out of Sam like a magnet, and Sam could literally see the images of whatever hellish nightmare still lingering in the back of his brother's head fade, their greedy fingers loosening their strong grip on Dean and letting him go for now, giving him a chance to go back to reality. To _him_.

He saw Dean sallow, nod jerkily, his left hand snaking to his right and closing around the flesh where the mark was itched, seemingly unconscious of what he was doing.

''Okay?'' Sam spoke again, waiting for his brother's assurance that he was completely free from the nightmare's grasp.

''Yeah,'' Dean whispered, voice ragged as if he had been screaming for hours. ''Yeah, I'm good.''

Sam nodded, letting his hand fall down to the bed and got up. But instead of walking back to his bed, he went to the small refrigerator, retrieved a cool bottle of water and walked back to Dean's bed and sat down, handing his brother the water.

Dean accepted the bottle gratefully, raised it to his mouth with a terribly-shaking hand and drained half of the bottle before he gave it back to Sam. ''Thanks,''

Nodding again, Sam busied himself with capping the bottle back, trying to give his brother another moment to pull himself together. He saw Dean's body sag a bit against the bed's headboard and glanced at the digital clock on the night stand between their beds. It was still four in the morning, he sighed.

''Nightmare?'' He finally prodded gently.

Dean nodded. ''A hell of one.''

''Wanna talk about it?''

''Nah,'' Dean said, looking at his watch and yawning—probably faking it. ''I'm okay, now. We should try to go back to sleep, we've got a lot of work to do tomorrow.'' After a small pause he added, ''Or, you know, today.''

''Yeah,'' Sam sighed, knowing this was how it was going to play out, but wishing Dean would open up to him every once in a while. Who knew, maybe he could actually help.

But Dean was right, they really needed their sleep, and since they did jack at the job they had come here for in the first place so far, they would have a lot of research to do tomorrow—well, _he_ would anyway. He walked back to his bed, praying silently to no one in particular for his brother to have a nightmare-free sleep for the next few hours.

...

It wasn't even five in the morning yet when Dean finally gave up on going back to sleep. He waited until Sam was out again before he decided to get up and sneak out of their room to find something to drink since he couldn't take a shower without waking Sam up. He had been feeling thirsty and dehydrated ever since the tasering session his body had went through last night, and despite the hot shower and drinking about a gallon of water straight from the tap before he went to bed last night—after brushing off Sam's half-heartened attempt to force him to eat something—his body still felt achy and his muscles were still stiff.

He was hungry even; he couldn't remember when was the last time he had eaten anything without throwing it back up right after finishing, and only the idea of food right now made his stomach twist and turn unpleasantly. Add that to the amount of alcohol he had been consuming lately and the abusing his body had gone through the past couple of days…uh-huh, not good. And even though he felt shaken and would give his right arm for a drink right now to try and wash away the remnants of the creepy-ass nightmare he just had, he knew Sam wouldn't appreciate the fact of him drinking at early morning when they had a lot of work ahead of them, so soda it was.

Pulling on an old pair of jeans and his jacket, he silently left their room and headed to the motel's office where he had spotted the vending machine earlier.

Looking around, he was grateful for the fact that everyone in the motel looked to be soundly asleep in their beds and no one was wondering in the streets at five in the morning except him. Something he was grateful for a lot lately despite his eternal fear of being left behind and ending up alone—a fear he had to face more times than he liked to remember and still wasn't able to beat. He even felt more comfortable when he was all alone lately. Not that he was ever really _comfortable_… just, less stiff.

It was easier to accept what was coming his way when he was alone, without having to pretend that he was okay or slip a mask after mask just for the sake of others. It was easier being in his room back in the bunker, safely tucked behind numerous walls, away from the world, from everything and everyone. Away from the look of fear for him he saw in his brother's eyes on every hunt or while searching the mark in the library. Away from the despair that was itched on Sam's face every time he looked at him like Dean was already gone—and maybe he was. Away from the sight of blood that made the mark glow in glory and pump more darkness into his veins.

Deep in thoughts, Dean didn't feel his legs moving and carrying him to the vending machine near the office, didn't register the fact that he was holding a can of beer in his hand instead of soda until he heard a rough voice coming from his left.

"Rough night?" A man who was fully dressed in a black suit like he had just got out of his fancy office at his fancy job—which made Dean briefly wonder what a guy like him was doing in a place like this—was standing a few feet away to Dean's left, right shoulder leaning casually against the building's wall.

Despite not being in the mood of any kind of touchy-feely conversations, where a couple of dudes drank a little too much and started spilling their feelings all over the floor and ended up playing couple therapy on each other, Dean found himself answering anyway.

"Rough life." He chuckled tightly and saw the other man pull out a small flask from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and take an impressively long drink before he nodded and sighed heavily like he understood exactly what Dean was talking about. Like he _could_ understand a life fraught with danger and pain and _darkness_. Like he could fathom a lifetime of wrong choices, unforgivable mistakes and death everywhere he turned.

After a few minutes of silence Dean wasn't willing to break, the stranger asked, "So, what's your story?'

Confused, Dean asked in return, "My story?"

"You got that look." The man shrugged.

"I have no story, man. Shit just happens." Dean shrugged back.

The other man nodded again and what he pulled out of his pocket next was a pack of cigarettes. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it then offered Dean one. Dean didn't regularly smoke, it wasn't really his thing, but he wouldn't refuse an offer to every now and then, either. Accepting it, he put the tip of the slim roll of tobacco in his mouth as the other man leaned forward to lit it for him and he had to raise his hand and cub his fingers around the flame before the air blew it out.

It wasn't cold, but the early morning air was refreshing and held the earthy smell of promised rain soon.

"I'm John by the way,"

"Dean," Dean said back after a long drag of smoke.

"What's yours?" He asked after a moment, it was always easier to focus on someone else's problem instead of his.

"I just got divorced," The man replied nonchalantly, but the stiffened shoulders and back easily gave him away.

"I'm sorry, man." Dean offered softly, shaking his head. The more he heard about the normal people lives, the more certain he was that he wasn't missing out on anything special. Normal or not, crap always found a way to hit the fan.

"Yeah," The stranger—John—smiled sadly before he continued. "We've known each other for so many years, we got married and we just had a baby girl a month ago."

Dean nodded compassionately, even though he was starting to really regret getting out of his bed. The Dr. Phil role wasn't really his department, but he reminded himself that helping people had been his mission in life once, before all the hell that went down and before he started to cause more pain and damage than help. And if letting the man unload his crap all over him meant that he had a tiny chance to help like the old, good days, so be it.

"I just don't get it you know? How could the one person who knows you best of all stop trusting you completely just like that?" John looked at him like he was demanding an answer for his question and Dean swallowed. That part he knew too well, more than he was willing to admit, and all these years he could never find an answer that gave him any sense of peace.

"I mean, I get that my brother's death sat me off a little bit, but that doesn't mean I'm turning into him! That doesn't mean she can't trust me with my own child!" John went on; his voice breaking a little the more he spoke and Dean thought the man was really desperate if he was spilling his guts to a complete stranger just like that.

But he knew from experience that talking to someone who didn't know you, probably didn't give a shit about you, was better than talking to someone who you would wake up in the following morning to see disappointment in their eyes.

"What did your brother do?" Dean ventured and John looked at him surprisingly like he wasn't expecting him to be paying attention.

"Jack, my brother, he's uh—was—h-he used to drink a lot lately and sometimes he'd get rough and take it out on his adopted kid. Susan—his wife—would talk to mine and ask her to tell me to talk to my brother." The man sniffed, his eyes looking at something only he could see. "And I tried, I swear, but he always told me to mind my own business and keep my nose out of his. He was a jerk sometimes, but he was my brother. He didn't deserve what happened to him, or his family." A lone tear slipped free from John's eye and he wiped at it angrily in a manner that reminded Dean of his brother with a bang to his heart.

Quickly connecting the dots, Dean asked, "Are you a Milton?"

The other man's head snapped in Dean's direction and looked at him suspiciously. "Yeah, how did you know?'

The confirmation was a testament to how lousy they were doing on this case they didn't even talk to the victims' relatives. Until now.

"I am actually with the FBI, I and my partner are in town to investigate The Milton's death." Dean easily slipped into his detective mode. "I'm really sorry for your loss."

John nodded and looked away before more tears made their way along his cheeks. "Anything on the killer yet?"

"Not yet. I'm afraid the investigation is moving a little bit slow." Dean said softly, yet professionally. "Did your brother have any enemies or acted strangely lately?"

John shook his head. "No, nothing that I know of. We weren't really that close, you know?"

"It's alright," Dean said reassuringly. "This might sound a little bit strange, but our bosses back in DC are really strike about details and we got forms to fill, so. Did he or his wife happen by any chance to mention anything about cold spots in the house, freckling lights, scratching sounds? Anything strange?"

John raised his eyebrows at him and Dean gave him the 'I know how it sounds but humor me, boss is a details-freak' eye roll.

"I really don't know, man." The man huffed frustratingly. "My wife Clair—well, ex-wife—might be able to help you though. She and Susan were really close and they used to talk a lot. I could give you the address if you like." John offered.

"Yeah, that would be great," Dean smiled sympathetically before he let the remnants of his cigarette fall to the ground, put it out with the tip of his boot and searched his pockets for a pen and the small stack of papers he usually carried around.

"My cards are in my suit and since I'm not on duty right now, I don't have them." Dean said as he wrote something on the small piece of paper before handing it to the other man. "So, here's my number, give me a call if you knew anything."

"You got it, Agent." John wrote down his house address in return. "I really hope you catch the bastard soon." He turned away and started walking towards what Dean guessed was his room, reminding him that he had his own room to get back to and a brother to wake up.

They got work to do.

\- **TBC..**

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**Playlist : **_Struggle Within _by _Metallica _

* * *

Hope that was worth the wait. Get ready for some action in the upcoming chapter! ;)

Thank you for reading and your awesome reviews. Have a great day!

Aya S.


	7. 6 - Face Off

**A/N:** By now you should have noticed that I suck as a fast writer. I had a massive writing-block lately, I couldn't write anything, besides real life kept me freaking busy. So, here's my apology, another chapter, and I hope you'll like it :)

**Warning: **Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

**Story so far: **Sam and Dean went into town investigating the death of The Miltons, whose adopted kid only survived. So far they haven't figured much since Dean has been distracted due to seeing Caroline again, whom he had met when he was a demon and bit her while they were "being intimate", which triggered certain, unwanted flashbacks for Caroline. After he told Sam what had happened between them to make them both act like being hit in the face when the saw each other, he went out for a walk and ended up seeing Caroline again, but this time she tased him. The brothers had an argument when Dean was back and later that night, after a hellish dream of himself drowning in the blood of his own victims while Caroline watched with vengeance, Dean managed to gather more information and details about the case they were in town for.

* * *

**6 - Face Off**

**Now,**

It had been four hours since Dean had walked back inside the room and unceremoniously woke Sam up and filled him in with the new information he was somehow able to find at five in the morning.

A shower and a quick run to the food stop down the street to grape breakfast and coffee later, the brothers paid a visit to Clair—John Milton's ex-wife—finally focusing on what they were actually in town for.

It was a fruitful visit, and Sam let out a sigh of relief on their way out of the house. From what Clair had told them, they finally had a lead to follow, or so Sam hoped. It turned out that Jack Milton had recently tended to get back to his house drunk and sometimes he had taken it out on their adopted kid—Josh, the only survivor. She also mentioned that Susan—Jack's wife—had asked for her advice once when Josh suddenly started talking about his imaginary friend, Anna, around two weeks before the accident.

So there they were, Sam was sitting with his laptop at the small table near the similarly small kitchenette, throwing Dean—who sat on his bed with their guns spread in front of him, cleaning them—a worried glance every now and then.

Since last night's conversation—which wasn't really one if you ask Sam—the tension had been sitting between them like a third company, even after the nightmare that woke the both of them up in the middle of the night. _Especially_ after the nightmare.

It wasn't like they weren't used to it; one of them waking up by screaming himself hoarse to reality and freaking out the other along with him then pretending the next day like nothing had happened—that, they were really used to. It was the way Dean was acting ever since he saw the girl—Caroline—at the diner.

The way he seemed to shut down and lock inside himself, lying about what actually happened to him when he came back to the motel covered in mud and walking stiffly like a ninety year-old man, and then the horrifying, one of its kind nightmare. Sam was trying to block out the dark thought that, from where he was sitting, everything looked like it was already going downhill, was trying to keep his panic at bay, but if things were already bad, now they seemed to be increasing tenfold.

And the fact that Dean appeared to decide that it was late enough somewhere in the world to slip Whiskey into his coffee and didn't bother to hide it spoke for itself.

Sam sighed, and it must have been loud enough because Dean raised his head and looked at him before he said, "What?"

Sighing again, Sam turned to the screen and stared at the article he had opened there. "Nothing,"

"Find anything?" Dean asked, tone clipped.

"Actually, yeah," Sam said and saw his brother tilt his head in question from the corner of his eyes. "I searched the town's history, database, everything I could get my hands on and only one kid called Anna was found dead on February eighteenth, 1990."

In the time it took Sam to click a few keys on his computer and scroll down to the part of the article he was looking for, Dean had got off the bed and was hovering behind his back and looking at screen with him, obviously more interested in the story Sam was about to tell than cleaning the guns.

"Says here that a guy called Robert Wilson was caught at the skirts of the town with his wife and got imprisoned for ten years for murdering his adopted kid, Anna Davis, who were just ten years old at the time," Sam scrolled some more before he continued. "The wife was released later after more investigations, and the body was found, buried at the house's backyard, cause of death; head trauma."

"Humans," Dean muttered behind him. "Is the wife still alive out there somewhere?" Dean asked but Sam was already ahead of him.

"No clue." Sam shook his head. "Nothing in the records and few witnesses said she left the whole state after. The dad of the year, though, was found dead in his own house the same day he was released from the prison, cause of death; a head trauma due to a _library_ falling over him." Sam finished with something akin to a victorious smile, his upper lip rising slightly.

"So the asshole-for-a-father kills this kid and ten years later she comes back for revenge." Dean summarized unnecessary and Sam nodded absently, still typing on the keyboard. "And now she kills the Miltons' family for abusing their adopted kid, but why all of them?"

"You got me." Sam said distractingly. "Hey, there have been similar incidents along the past fifteen years, the whole family was found dead and only one or two survivors."

"Bet they were all adopted." Dean murmured.

Sam nodded. "In fact, yeah. And only a member or two of the rest of the family survived as well."

"So what, the spirit picks the abusive members of the family, slaughters them in their sleep, and leaves the innocent ones behind?" Dean said after a beat and Sam caught the barely there wince Dean let slip at the word 'slaughter'.

"Uh, yeah." Sam muttered before he re-focused on the case. "Yeah, basically. Remember the wife was released after more investigations, so she must have been innocent, that's why the spirit let her go."

"Okay, alright. Does it say where she's buried?"

"Actually, she was cremated." Sam's shoulder sagged a bit before his eyes lightened up. "But it says here who the biological mother is." Sam smirked and Dean smiled proudly at him.

"Let's go then."

**…**

She was tired.

She felt so weak right after she saw him again—twice—the previous day. It was as if all the effort she had spent all these months to build up walls of defense back up again ever since the night he had almost taken her against her will was for nothing. Even after she had managed to defend herself last night, she still felt pathetic for the way he made her feel.

_I'm surely not the hooker with issues here._

He made her feel sick

Caroline jumped when a hand gripped her shoulder. Wide-eyed, she turned around and found herself face to face with Mrs. Davis.

"Oh, honey. Are you okay?" Mrs. Davis was giving her a sympathetic smile, grounding her to reality.

Mrs. Davis was the only person she knew in town aside from the waitresses she worked with, who didn't like her that much anyway. When Caroline moved to this place five months ago after the _incident_, leaving yet another life behind again, she was running out of money, energy… hope—practically _everything_. She was kicked out of the bar she had been working at after 'the trouble she had brought on the place' as her boss put it and she wasn't paid for the time of the month she had spent working there. It wasn't like she was going to stay in this place after what had happened anyway, but a little earned-money would have been a bit of a help.

She had met Mrs. Davis the same night she had moved into the town—trying to start fresh and having no clue how to do so—she had been at her diner then, a good place as any to get off her feet and try to get herself to eat something and not be sick after.

It hadn't worked out the way she had wanted, though. All she could remember from that night was being sick no matter how hard she tried to keep her light meal down, and a lot of blur of someone helping her wash her face and escorting her to one of the diner's tables. Mrs. Davis—who she knew later was the owner of the place—was kind enough to offer her a ride home and that was when Caroline had completely lost it.

It wasn't something she was proud of, but at that time she had been feeling lost and homesick and _so tired_. Home. God, she had missed home. She had missed it like hell, but she had known she couldn't go back there yet, if ever.

She had been partially aware of a hand on her shoulder, alternating between squeezing and rubbing her back, but she hadn't been strong enough to shrug it off so instead, she had leaned into it.

The same hand that was squeezing her shoulder now.

Blinking back tears, Caroline cleared her throat and tried to ignore the visions of the time Mrs. Davis had taken pity on her, enough to take her to her own house that night and offer her a job in her diner the next day after she had heard her story—well, whatever Caroline had been able to share, anyway.

"Yeah, I'm okay." She smiled tearfully at Mrs. Davis, nodding a little and looked back to the whistling kettle in front of her.

Right.

She was standing in the kitchen of Mrs. Davis house, supposedly making them some tea before she was lost in her thoughts.

Mrs. Davis nodded back, still smiling, and turned to prepare the tea herself, apparently realizing Caroline's emotional state.

"I'm sorry; I just got a little bit distracted." Caroline couldn't help but apologize but the older woman waved her off.

"It's okay, sweetie." She replied while pouring the steaming water into the two cups waiting on the counter. "My tea tastes better anyway," She winked at her and Caroline laughed softly.

Mrs. Davis was one of the few good people she met during her short life.

The two women looked up when the doorbell rang and Caroline muttered a whisper of "I'll get it," before she hurried out of the kitchen to answer it.

Opening the door, Caroline froze at the sight of the two men in suits in front of her who gaped in return.

She glanced at Sam before her gaze turned to Dean, who was staring back at her, utter surprise and confusion masking his face.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Caroline finally snapped out of her surprise, taking an unconscious step back inside the house. She threw Sam another look before she looked back at Dean. "Are you following me now? Is that it?"

"What? No!" Dean answered immediately, coming out of his haze in return.

"Then what are you doing here?" She yelled this time, terrified, not only for her sake but for Mrs. Davis as well. And she couldn't remember where she had put her taser.

Before any of them could say anything else, Mrs. Davis appeared at the door behind Caroline and gave the three of them a calculating look.

"What's going on in here?" She asked firmly and Sam, now aware of his brother's situation, took the lead.

"Mrs. Davis?" Sam professionally asked, trying to keep his eyes only on the woman in front of him, not Caroline, not _Dean_—whom he could have sworn had stopped breathing. When the older woman nodded, Sam went on. "I'm special agent Smith, and this is my partner, special agent Parker, we'd like to ask you a few questions, please, if that's okay." He showed her his badge, nudging Dean who seemed to be frozen to the ground to do the same.

"What?" Caroline blurted out sharply. _What?! Special agents? What?!_

Sam and Mrs. Davis turned to look at her with raised eyebrows, but she was already staring at Dean who was looking at the ground.

"Is there a problem, Miss—?" Sam asked, drawing her attention on himself instead of Dean.

"Caroline," Mrs. Davis supplied when the younger woman stared at Sam in confusion but didn't speak. "Sweetie, is something wrong?" It was directed at Caroline this time, but she just shook her head, looking away, anywhere but at them—at _him_.

She didn't understand what was going on, whither this was another trick by Dean or they were really what they claimed they were for real. But she was willing to play along this time because she couldn't do anything in front of Mrs. Davis. She hadn't told her everything, she only told her enough to not think she was either crazy or a slut. Or both.

"What is this about, agent?" Mrs. Davis was saying, and Caroline looked back at the taller guy instead.

"We're just investigating the death of the Meltons' victims in the neighborhood." He said smoothly, earning a nod from the house owner.

"Come on in." She said and moved aside, making a room for the brothers to pass.

"Thanks," Sam smiled professionally at her and walked into the house, praying to no one in particular that Dean was following him.

It took Dean a minute to shake his shock and guilt off before he focused on his brother's back and walked in after him and past Caroline, and tried his hardest to pretend that he hadn't noticed her flinch.

Mr. Davis escorted them into the living room and they all sat around the coffee table, Sam and Dean sat next to each other, shoulders almost touching, enough for the younger brother to feel the slight tremors in the older brother's body. They locked eyes for a second, silently communicating with each other.

_Can you do this or should we get out of here?_ Sam waited until Dean blinked and subtly shook his head. _It's fine. Let's get this thing over with. _Sam nodded slightly and turned his attention to the two women sitting in front of them.

Caroline sat closely to the older woman, not too close to creep her out but close enough as if to protect her if she had to, Sam observed, and he couldn't really blame her after what his brother had told him the other day.

"So, what's going on, _agents_?" Caroline spit the word out, holding herself still and trying not to let her panic get the better of her. She kept her eyes on Dean, tracking each movement he made—which weren't much—watching for any sign of danger and she almost laughed out loud. The guy _was_ danger. She knew it the first time she saw him.

"Mrs. Davis, I believe you've heard about what happened to the Miltons?" Sam started, and Caroline flicked her eyes towards him before they fell back on Dean once again.

"Yes," Mr. Davis was nodding beside her. "Such a shame, they were good people."

"Did you know any of them personally? Knew if they had any enemies? Maybe you can help us catch whoever did this." Sam eased into the questioning slowly; he didn't want to be too straight forward just yet. It was hard enough being watched by the blond girl who probably wasn't buying any word he was saying right now.

"Not really," The older woman answered. "I met Susan once or twice but we weren't that close. I don't know if they had any enemies, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Sam smiled a little, waiting for Dean to step in the conversation with him but Dean was still silent beside him and as much as Sam sympathized with him, he was starting to get frustrated the more he heard nothing come from his brother but silence. They were professionals, and Dean was the one who taught him to put his emotions aside while in a job.

Sighing, Sam had no choice but to ask the questions they were really here for. "Mr. Davis, dose the date: February eighteenth, 1990 mean anything to you?"

Sam saw the color practically drain from the older woman's face before she turned her eyes to look briefly at Dean then Caroline before they rested back on him. "What?" She stammered finally after a moment of silence in which Dean had finally raised his head and was looking at her too.

"I understand that this might be hard for you, but I'm afraid your daughter's case has been reopened due to further investigation of the Meltons' death, as well as several other cases that had the same pattern along the past fifteen years." Sam said softly.

"I don't understand." Mr. Davis said in a chocked tone. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Dean sighed internally, they really didn't have time for this and the urge to beat answers out of the old lady in front of him was getting worse by the second. He turned his eyes towards Caroline for a second and the confusion on her face would have been comical if the situation wasn't suffocating him already. He really needed to get out of here, the sooner the better.

As if feeling his eyes on her, Caroline turned narrow eyes towards him and the look in her eyes spoke of fear and disgust and hurt, much like the nightmarish version of her that Dean had dreamt of last night. He looked away, trying to blink the vivid scene away, and failing.

He was vaguely aware of the sweat that broke on his eyebrow and was sliding down his temple and under the collar of the shirt of his suit, which was getting too heavy on his unreasonably hot body. He wasn't aware of his left hand as it snaked to his right and squeezed his arm where the mark was burning into his skin, he wasn't aware when a second later the same hand moved to loosen the tie around his neck that wasn't allowing enough air to get into his lungs.

He almost jumped when a heavy hand suddenly fell onto his knee to stop him from shifting too much into his seat—which he wasn't aware of either.

Sam was looking at him with a mix of concern and frustration before he whispered, "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean looked up at his brother and around the room and the two women that were now staring at him and remembered where he was, and why. He must have lost some time because the older woman's—Mr. Davis, he had to remind himself—cheeks were wet and she had a tissue in her hand while Caroline kept a reassuring hand on her back and was looking at him with an expression that he couldn't really read.

Shaking his head, Dean whispered back, "Yeah, I'm fine." Sam's gaze stayed on him, willing him to keep it together until they were out of here.

"I'm fine," Dean repeated with more conviction and Sam nodded before he turned to their company.

"I'm sorry, my partner has the flu and we haven't been having much sleep really, having to work and all." The lie rolled out of the Sam's mouth smoothly and Mrs. Davis nodded while Caroline just looked at his brother like someone would look at unsolved puzzle.

"Yeah, sorry for spacing out like that. So not professional of me." Dean tried to joke it out, his voice was hoarse and it was the first thing he actually said to the woman but it seemed to work as the older woman smiled at him in understanding.

Caroline didn't understand. The man who was sitting in front of her was totally different than the man she had met months ago. The other one seemed to be carefree, dangerous, happy and charming in his own twisted way, unlike this one, who sat with his shoulders hunched forward like he was carrying the guilt of the world above them, who somehow looked older, paler—_broken_.

She shook her head and tried to keep up with the conversation going around her.

"Mrs. Davis was just telling me about Anna and how much she knows about the murder." Sam was saying to Dean, giving said woman a compassionate look.

Dean nodded. "I'm sorry for interrupting. May you continue please, ma'am?" He prodded gently, sounding surprisingly professional, like he wasn't on the verge of having a panic attack a moment earlier from what Sam could see.

The older woman nodded, whipping away more tears from her left check before she started again. "Like I was telling agent Smith, I had given birth to Anna twenty-five years ago. I was on my way home from a friend's house, and it was late, I didn't hear him when he came from behind me. At first, I thought he wanted my money so I threw my purse at him and begged him not to hurt me but then I found out that my money wasn't what he was after. I was too young and defenseless, the bastard, h-he … he raped me." Mrs. Davis stopped to take a breath. Caroline gasped, covering her mouth with her slim fingers. Dean flinched and looked away, a muscle in his jaw threatening to pop.

Sam seemed to be the only person in control in the room.

"What happened after?" He asked softly, giving the sniffing woman his best impression of puppy-dog-eyes.

"I was too scared to tell anyone, he threatened me that if I tell anyone he was going to find me and this time he will kill me instead. Then two months later I found out that I was pregnant. I left the house, my family, I didn't know what to do and I couldn't just _stay_. So, I ran."

Caroline swallowed and turned her eyes away before a tear managed to slip from her eyes. She caught Dean staring at her with such a shattered expression she almost believed he actually cared about how close to home all this was to her—like he wasn't the one who mercilessly added salt to her wounds. She would have excuses herself and left if it wasn't for Mrs. Davis sob that required her full attention.

"I came here, in this town. and I gave birth to Anna five months after but I couldn't keep her. I just—I _couldn't_. I gave her up to an orphanage and told them that I found her on the streets. From time to time I would go and check on her and later I knew she was adopted by a family called The Wilsons.

"And all these years, I could never shake the guilt away that I gave up _my_ baby girl, you know? It's not as easy as people think it is. So, I asked around and knew that Robert Wilson's wife—Lilly—was looking for a baby sitter and I went to their house, met her and she took me in for the job. This way I was able to keep an eye on Anna since I couldn't really have her back, and I'm not sure if I was ever ready to."

Mrs. Davis fell silent for a moment, silent tears slipping from her eyes, looking at the wall but her gaze was so far away, her audience holding their breaths and waited patiently.

"A year later, everything changed. I was there when Robert came back home one night, drunk out of his mind, and was yelling at everyone like a mad man. He hit Anna when she was trying to hug him and hit his wife too when she tried to stop him. I never went back again, Lilly called me to let me know that they no longer need my services. I knew then that Robert must have changed for good for some reason; I knew he kept hitting my daughter and Lilly as well. I called the police many times but it never worked. Lilly never confessed to what he has been doing and he must have threatened her, she was a good woman—she was a better mother to Anna than I could ever have been."

The woman choked, looking back at the men sitting in front of her, seemingly unable to stop now that she finally started. "And then one night, Lilly called me screaming, she said her husband has gone mad and she doesn't know whom to call or what to do. She wanted to run away and I was helping her when he found out, he absolutely lost his mind then, he beat his wife mercilessly and when I tried to stop him he pushed me against the wall and that's when Anna came screaming and kicking at him to stop. He pushed her at one of the wall too but the library came down on her when she tried to hold herself up with one of the shelves.

"She died and everything stopped then everything was happening so fast once again. He tied me and Lilly to chairs and buried Anna in his own back yard, the sick bastard. He came back, untied Lily and beat her to stop screaming and threatened me if I tell anyone I'll be next. They left and when I was finally able to get out of my chair I called the police, and I told them everything, told them that I'm Anna's real mother. I couldn't fail her anymore. Not in her death, I couldn't."

"Jesus," Sam and Dean said in unison and shook their heads. Even though they had already known what had happened, hearing it from the devastated woman was completely different.

"It's okay, it's okay," Caroline soothed her, taking her hand between her own.

"Mrs. Davis," Dean began softly. "I'm really sorry for what you had been through, but the papers said that your daughter's body was cremated, is that correct?"

"Yes," The woman sighed wetly and Caroline's gaze fell back on Dean. It was like she couldn't _not_ to.

"Is there anything that you have kept of hers?" It was Sam this time. "Like a lock of her hair or something like that."

"I-uh … I don't know," Mrs. Davis stammered. And Caroline looked at them in confusion again. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Please, ma'am." Dean stepped in. "We know how this might be confusing to you, but anything—no matter how insignificant it seems—can really help."

The woman stared at him for a long moment before she finally sighed. "Yeah, I kept one of her dresses. It's in the cupboard in my room, actually."

"Okay, Mrs. Davis. We're really sorry but we're gonna need to have that dress." Sam said, sharing a knowing look with Dean.

"What?" The older woman looked at them suspiciously. "Why?"

"Evidence." Dean said soothingly and the brothers stood up, silently announcing the end of their visit and waited for the woman to get them Anna's dress before they left. But before anyone else had the chance to move Sam and Dean suddenly felt like the air in the room was being sucked in a vacuum and the front door—which Caroline had left open—was forcefully snapped shut and locked by an invisible force.

Caroline rose to her feet slowly, looked at the brothers with empty eyes, hazel blown-wide pupils stared at them instead of her soft, sparkling blue ones before she smirked and said,

"You're not going anywhere."

_**tbc ..**_

* * *

Mwahahahah *evil grin*


	8. 7 - Gravity Problem

**a/n : **If you read, I hope you like it :)

As for the guest who was wondering how can vampires be possessed, well Caroline isn't a vampire yet in this version. As mentioned in the summary, it's set sometime during S1, and AU-ish version of it.

**Warning: **Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

* * *

**7 – Gravity Problem**

"You're not going anywhere,"

"What the hell?" The Winchesters blurted out together, their eyes fixed on the not-so-sweet-anymore blond girl in front of them.

"Caroline?" Mrs. Davis stood up, confusion itched on her face.

The four people in the middle of the room held very still and stared at each other, each waiting for the storm that always followed the dreadful silence.

It was when Dean saw Caroline—the vengeful spirit that was now possessing Caroline—smirk at him again, that tiny smirk, that he know the crap was about to hit the fan—he also knew that he was never going to be fast enough.

Without a warning, Sam flinched as he felt more than saw his brother being snatched from his side by an invisible grip and was thrown across the far wall.

"Dean!" He yelled, his eyes following his brother's falling body until it crumbled into a heap to the floor. A thin trail of blood soon followed, sliding down Dean's temple and Sam let a breath he didn't realize he was holding when Dean started struggling to get his feet under him and stand up.

"Caroline!" Mrs. Davis was shouting behind him, obviously horrified by the show of violence that didn't suit the girl she had known for months now. "What are you doing?!"

Caroline's head turned impossibly fast towards the house owner and glared at her. In the meantime, Sam used the spirit's distraction to his advantage and hurried to his brother's side. He caught Dean's outstretched hand in an instinctive grip and was pulling him up. Their victory was short lived, though, and as soon as Dean rose to his feet with Sam's help, Caroline raised her hand in their direction and they both hit the wall this time and were back to square one again.

"Dammit," Dean grunted in pain, his left arm coming up to support his ribs which he felt rattle inside his chest at the second hit, and saw Sam do the same out of the corner of his eyes before he refocused on the unfolding scene in front of him.

"Caroline, stop!" The old woman shouted again, shock and fear taking over her tone, but Caroline's possessed version didn't seem fazed, if not getting a little bit cockier. With a flicker of her wrist, she sent the brothers flying against the wall again and smiled manically at the woman in front of her.

The sound of something snapping inside his brother's chest and the startled cry of pain that shortly followed after muffled Mrs. Davis yell of "you're killing them!" in Sam's ears. Turning wide eyes towards his brother, he watched Dean helplessly clamp his jaw and eyes shut against the onslaught of pain, right arm bracing his now God-knows-how-many-broken ribs and upper body leaning towards the floor and almost curling into a temporary tight ball. But fortunately, and to Sam's relief, Dean's eyes flickered open after a moment. He blinked a couple of times, trying to get the sweat and blood out of his eyes before his gaze found Sam's, reassuring him that he was okay despite the pain Sam saw swimming there.

"Maybe," Caroline was saying. "But they have to know, they have to see!"

Seizing the spirit's distraction, but not liking it one bit when the innocent woman was the main focus of the spirits obvious rage for the meantime, Dean, finally overriding the sudden pain inside his chest and more or less able to breathe on his own, beaconed to his brother to move. Sam nodded and started crawling soundlessly towards the open kitchen behind them.

"See what?!" The older woman crocked out, staring at the blonde's hazel eyes. Something shifted in them and Caroline's spoke in a hushed, almost gentle tone, "See what I've been through, see how many times I was thrown across the walls and beaten without anyone hearing my screams, without anyone stopping him!" A couple of headlights shattered at the scream that followed the spirit's explanation, flooding the room in semi-darkness.

Dean cursed silently at the turn the events were heading to, was starting to get his legs under him again when the house owner uttered the name faintly and the room was suddenly very still around him.

"Anna?"

Then everything was happening too fast.

The spirit advanced at her real mother, and the latter was pretty sure her little girl, whom she hardly believed was even real and not some kind of a twisted dream, was going to kill her.

Suddenly and horribly fast, Anna had the hand of the body she possessed fisted into the woman's scalp—the woman who gave her up only to be tortured by someone else—and bashed her head into the glass of the China cabinet behind her.

In that moment Sam came barreling out of the kitchen, armed with a can of salt. He took two wide strides towards the blonde and forcefully slammed his tall and wide body against her slim one, throwing her off balance. Not missing a beat, the younger Winchester snagged his arm around her narrow shoulders and grasped her tightly in a bruising grip, not caring to be gentle when the spirit was already recovering from her momentary surprise and was probably about to send him flying against the wall again.

In a couple of moves he knew only too well, Sam managed to hold the thrashing blonde's jaw as wide as he was going to get it and poured the salt generously down her throat. It took only two seconds before a grey, blurry cloud in the shape of a small body was expelled out of Caroline's body, which Sam gently gathered in his arms as she went suddenly limp.

Knowing they had only few minutes until the spirit was back, Dean had somehow pulled his body up off the floor and moving towards his brother.

"We need to burn that dress now, Sam. Before she comes back," He eyed Caroline' still form for a second, safely nestled in Sam's arms, before he moved as fast as his abused ribs allowed him towards Mrs. Davis. The old woman was sprawled on her stomach on the floor beside the ruined cabinet, shattered pieces of glass covering her head and shoulders and Dean wasn't sure if she was breathing.

Aware of movement behind him as Sam was probably laying Caroline on one of the couches, Dean pressed two fingers gently to the back of the unconscious woman's neck and his heart skipped a beat when he couldn't detect a pulse. He was about to roll her slack body to her back when his guts screamed at him that they were already losing the leverage of time.

"Sam, now!" Dean prompted, face half turned in his brother's direction and saw him already jogging hurriedly towards the stairs and taking them three at the a time.

Throwing the still-unconscious blonde on the couch a quick glance, Dean steeled himself before he turned the other woman to her back. He couldn't stifle the small gasp or the whisper of _''sonuvabitch_" that slipped from between his lips at the sight of the large piece of glass that was embedded in Anna's mother's neck, or the lifeless, scared wide eyes that was staring at nothing behind his shoulder.

A life time of training and vanquishing evil was enough for Dean to break out of his fleeting distraction and feel the sudden prescreens of someone—or something—at his back, but before he was able to turn around there were two tiny hands gripping him from the back of the head in the same manner Caroline had held the dead woman earlier and was shoving him headfirst into the other side of cabinet.

Putting his hands instinctively out to cover his face was all Dean could do before he felt his head smash into the sharp glass two times in a raw before his head connected violently with the wall beside him and all he knew was darkness.

…**.**

Upon reaching the master bedroom, Sam started tearing into the drawers where Mrs. Davis mentioned she had kept Anna's dress inside. After a few seconds of rummaging through useless pieces of clothes and pulling out empty drawers, Sam finally found his jackpot and was patting his suit's pockets for a lighter or a packet of match and came up empty.

Cursing under his breath, the hunter ran back down the stairs and almost tripped and face planted on the base of the staircase at the sound of his brother's barely stiffed cry of pain that was followed by another smash of glass. His doubt was confirmed when he crossed by the living room's threshold and saw Anna's small, murky figure standing above his brother's body. Despite every instinct he had that screamed at him to run to his brother's aid and stop the spirit from hurting him farther, Sam, fingers clenching around the material of the dress that was in his hand, knew he couldn't save Dean unless he burned the only thing tethering the spirit to this world.

Blocking out the sound of Dean's agony and the thud that came after upon what he knew was his older brother's body hitting the ground, Sam, on auto-pilot, knowing the spirit didn't notice him, was busy torturing his brother instead, ran towards the kitchen and a second later the dress was being roasted into the blue flame of the stove.

Sam didn't dare let a sigh of relief yet at the anguished scream of the spirit and the _woosh_ that closely caught up to it as the spirit vanished, not before he made sure his brother was okay and that he wasn't too late.

Driven by his worry, Sam's legs ate up the short distance between the kitchen and the living room and stumbled to a startled stop.

Dean was propped up against the wall, probably by the spirit that was intending to deliver its final strike; the only thing keeping him upright was the low shelf of books beside him. Several cuts marred his too pale, bloodied face, small shreds of glass were sticking out of his left cheek and blood matted his hair to his head which was slumped against the wall in an awkward angle that would probably make his neck stiff to move later—and his eyes were closed.

The picture in front of him was achingly too familiar he felt the breath get knocked out of his chest.

Not less than a year earlier Sam had to stand a few yards away from his brother—whose body was crumpled and probed against the warehouse wall exactly the same way, the only difference was Dean's now-ruined cheep suit instead of his regular hunting clothes—and helplessly watch the Script of God drive his angel blade mercilessly into his brother's vulnerable chest—knowing he had been too late, that deep down, he knew that that was it, that he was losing his brother and there was nothing he could have done to change his brother's fate no matter how desperately he told himself otherwise.

Lost in the dark passageway he tried his hardest not to explore on daily basis, the memory that he had shoved way too deep inside himself where it should have been unsurfable, locked away and only made appearance in his nightmares, Sam didn't notice Caroline's eyes flutter, was only pulled out of living the same memory that threatened to suffocate him on the spot by the blonde's wild gasp.

Jerking out of his trance, Sam visibly shook his body and compelled himself to focus; they weren't out of the woods yet. Sparing Caroline—who was gagging and retching the salt onto the living room carpet, but otherwise alive—a glance, Sam crouched next to his brother and pressed two fingers at the base of his Dean's throat. Almost choking on his saliva at the sight of Mrs. Davis sprawled in a pole of her own blood a few inches away from Dean with a thick piece of glass sticking out of her throat. Dean's pulse throbbed strongly, if not a little faster than he liked, under his fingertips and, feeling partially guilty, he let out a sigh of relief that his brother was probably fast enough and was able to cover his face before he went into the glassy surface of the cabinet door and didn't end up bleeding out on the floor like the poor, old woman.

At that thought, Sam looked down at his brother's arms, which were hanging loosely by his sides, hands bent at the wrists where it was laid limply on the floor, covered in blood. The younger Winchester saw a piece of glass that matched the one that killed the house owner sticking out of Dean's left balm while the right one was thankfully only sliced in a couple of places.

Sam took in his brother's slack face that looked horrifyingly void of life and tried to swallow the rising pile in his throat. Bracketing Dean's too still face between his big hands, Sam used his thumbs to wipe away some of the blood that trailed down Dean's face from his now-wide-open head wound and came to pole in the hollow under his left eye.

"Oh my, God!" He was startled at the sudden voice of someone else who wasn't his brother. For a moment he had almost forgot about Caroline's presence.

Sam felt Caroline step closer to where Mr. Davis body lied near the smashed cabinet, heard her choked, muffled sob, but he didn't acknowledge her terror or grief, not when he was trying to wake Dean up and failing.

"Dean," He tapped the older man's cheek, managing only to smear more blood along his clammy face. "Hey, man, wake up! Dean!" Mindful of his brother's wounds and careful not to jar him by shaking him awake of tapping his cheeks harder, Sam pressed his left palm gently to Dean's chest to keep him propped up and used his other hand to loosen the tie around Dean's neck enough to be able to unfasten the shirt's collar button and slip his hand to the back of his brother's newly freed neck to squeeze the junction between his shoulder blades firmly.

Dean gasped himself back into consciousness, letting out an involuntary moan of pain as his upper body instinctively surged forward and found resistance. "Easy, Dean." Sam gently pressed Dean back against the wall.

"Wha-" Dean tried, his tongue heavy in his mouth and feeling groggy. _Was he drunk? _He swallowed a couple of time, his tongue darting out to lick dry lips the memories shifted back in place when he tasted his own blood. Pain soon followed the tornado of flashes and he couldn't stop the harsh breath that rushed out of his lungs as every bruise and cut and his broken rib made themselves known.

Not willing to break the physical contact between him and his still disoriented brother, yet, Sam silently watched Dean squeeze his eyes shut once, twice, before his lids parted and glassy, blown wide eyes, with barely a hint of green in them, were staring back at him. _Definitely concussed._ Sam sighed.

Dean stared at his brother uncomprehendingly for a second before a movement behind Sam's broad shoulders caught his eyes and had him turn squinted eyes to look at the exhausted, shaking figure behind Sam. Following Caroline's scared stare, he once again had to look at the woman lying lifelessly beside him and groaned in frustration.

Not able to look anywhere in the time being except at his brother, Dean rolled his head—which felt like it weighed a ton—across the wall and held Sam's gaze. "Is it done?" He cringed inwardly at how ragged his tone sounded into his ears.

Knowing exactly what his brother conveyed, Sam let a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth and nodded. "Yeah,"

Dean nodded in return, regretting the motion immediately, and Sam watched his face drain of all the colors and his brows twist in obvious pain. A second later a green-ish wave of color toned Dean's face and Sam quickly changed his position, coming to support his brother's instinctive forward motion instead of holding him firmly still against the wall, and managed to get out of the way before he was covered into Dean's vomit.

There wasn't much in his already empty stomach to come up, and for that Dean was grateful, but it still felt like his chest was on fire throughout the whole thirty seconds it took him to finish bringing up his insides on the blood-stained carpet beneath him.

Sam caught his brother's limp body before he completely pitched forward and managed to breathe in blood and vomit off the floor and Dean grunted at the rough manhandling as he fought against the dark spots that raced to fill his already blurry vision.

"Hey, hey," Sam was pulling him back and Dean let his brother support his abused body for the time being until he was able to breathe again—he just needed a second. "Hey, Dean. Stay with me, man."

Dean grunted again and tried to pull away from Sam's possessive grip but found that his body wasn't interested in moving just yet and he slumped back against Sam's chest. "It's okay, Dean. I gotcha, just stay awake for me, alright?" Reading his brother's intentions and knowing they would have only succeeded in doing more damage than good, Sam soothed, keeping his arms secured around Dean's shoulders.

"What happened?" The brothers jerked in synch at the sudden feminine voice, and Dean groaned as the movement jarred his broken rib and bounding head.

Caroline took a step closer to where the brothers sat on the floor and unconsciously away from the dead body beside the wall, her eyes staring hard at Dean's wounded body.

Suddenly agitated at the fact that some stranger was an audience to his brother's show of weakness, Sam unconsciously tightened his hold over his brother and ignored her question. He said instead, "We need to get out of here." He looked down at his brother, who had his eyes closed again. "Can you get up?" Sam asked, a slight tremor slipping in his tone.

Sensing the waves of concern radiating from Sam at his own lack of protest at being cuddled by his little brother, Dean dug deep inside himself for strength to move his body. "Aw, little brother's offering to hold my hand and help me up. How cute!" He threw at Sam sarcastically, knowing he managed to ease some of his brother's worry when Sam smirked in return.

"Well, big brothers are usually known for being big pussies," He winked and a second later grunted in pain when Dean elbowed him in the stomach as hard as his weaken body was capable of. "Just help me up, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam retorted affectionately. He stood and positioned his arm around Dean's narrow waste under the suit's jacket and rested Dean's right one on his shoulders.

Dean's breath hitched as he came upright with his brother's help and swayed dangerously. The hand he had on Sam's shoulder fisted his suit jacket in a death grip and his other one was coming, intent on pressing firmly against his chest to ward off as much pain as possible the movement had caused and was startled at the sharp object that jabbed him in his chest instead, finally coming to notice the size of half a dollar piece of glass that was sticking out of his bleeding palm. He kept his head bowed and tried to breathe and was even more frustrated to find that he had to lean most of his weight on his brother and concentrate really hard just to keep his knees from buckling.

Feeling the slight tremor that ran through Dean's body and his hard breathing, Sam gave the wounded man a couple of minutes to regroup—noticing that Caroline's eyes had been tracking their motion all along—before he asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Came the usual reply, though a bit breathless this time.

"You don't really look fine," It was Caroline who said as a matter of fact, earning two sets of green eyes staring back at her for her troubles.

"I will be," Dean replied before Sam could utter a word, his gaze holing the blonde's, tone void of any weakness despite leaning heavier into his brother's hold than a second ago. Caroline stared back at him for a moment before she turned her head and looked away.

She took a step aside, clearing the way for the brothers as they started moving slowly through the living room and towards the main door, stepping over shreds of glasses in their wake from the cabinet and the headlights, and Dean was grateful for the semi-darkness the room was plunged in because of the spirit's earlier rage.

And because he was Dean Winchester, and things couldn't just work in his favor—_ever_, his satisfaction didn't last that much and soon enough his head was threatening to split into two halves at the searing pain that sliced through his skull when Caroline stepped forward, flooding the room in intense daylight as she opened the door for them for some reason but Dean was too busy being blinded to really give a damn about the blonde who was _now_ offering help—willingly.

Sam cursed under his breath at the whimper Dean was obviously not aware of letting slip from under his defense before he pressed his forehead instinctively into the dark confines of Sam's shoulder and away from the torturous sunlight.

Moving shoulder-first to be able to keep his body upper body curled around Dean's wounded head as much as possible, Sam warned him that he was about to take the two stairs down the house porch in a tone meant only for him and Dean only pressed his head more firmly against his jacket in response, smearing more blood onto it in the process.

The journey to the car, though not long, wasn't fun for either of the brothers, and when they finally reached the car they both sighed in relief. Sam was about to prop the older man up against the back seat's door to open the passenger's one and help his brother in but suddenly his flied of vision was filled of the blonde, who seemed to come out of nowhere, and was opening the passenger door for him.

Smiling gratefully, if not a bit awkwardly, at her, Sam loaded his brother carefully into the car—who was mostly out of it and instantly clamped his eyes shut and let Sam lay his head gently back on the headrest—and made sure that all his limps were safely inside before he closed the door to the classic car and took a deep breath. He looked back at the blue-eyed woman; ready to dismiss her once he made sure she was fine.

Her eyes were glued to his brother though, and as much as he wanted to let the idea that she obviously cared for his brother on some level warm him from the inside, he didn't. He had no idea what was going on in her mind or what she thought of his brother, not after the trauma she had just went through—and had a role for the performance to play out, too—and definitely not after what Dean had told him about what had happened between the two of them.

"How're you holding up?" Sam asked but Caroline was already saying, "Is he going to be okay?" and finally turned scared eyes to look at him.

Sam couldn't help but steal a look at his brother's slumped form behind the window glass of the car and swallowed at the sight of him. His wounds looked even worse in daylight. "Yeah, he will be." Sam paused and turned to look at her once again. "What about you?"

Caroline stared at him for a long moment then she looked down and shook her head. "I killed Mrs. Davis," She whimpered, her chin trampling and Sam saw tears slide along her milky cheeks and mix with the remnants of salt on her upper lip.

Wishing he had time to comfort the distressed young woman, Sam sighed.

"Look, I know that nothing of what just happened makes any sense to you, but what you have to know is that it wasn't you, I promise." Sam said sincerely, holding her teary, blue wide eyes. "I wish I had more time to explain, but my brother is hurt and I really need to get him some help." Sam didn't bother to not notice her flinch at the word 'brother', by now their whole cover story was already blown to Hell.

He watched the blonde's gaze slid off him to fall on his brother behind the glass and saw her nod in agreement. "You're right; you probably should get him some help as soon as possible," And Sam sighed in relief. "And you can explain to me whatever the hell happened later." He saw her nod to herself as if coming to a decision and was startled when she rounded him and opened the door to the back seat and was getting in.

"What the hell are you doing?" He exclaimed in confusion.

"I may be really confused right now and I can't even begin to understand whatever happened in there—" Sam saw her swallow and try to regain her composure. "But I know that I_ killed _Mrs. Davis—that _this_?" She pointed at the car's passenger's seat, "Is _my _fault. _I'm_ the one who hurt _him_, and I'm not going anywhere until I make sure he doesn't end up the same way the woman who had showed me nothing but kindness for the past three months did." With that, she carefully got inside the car and shut the door, ending the discussion that Sam wasn't very sure he could have won even if he had the chance.

_**TBC .. **_

* * *

**Have a great day! :)**

**Aya S.**


	9. 8 - Hope

**Unbeta'd. **All mistakes are mine.

* * *

**8 - Hope**

By the time Sam drove the impala into the ER's lot, Dean was unconscious in the seat beside him. He had tried to raise his brother several times in the last fifteen minutes to no avail, the reason why he decided to make the drive to the town's hospital. Cracked ribs and a simple cut on the head he could deal with, but as far as he was concerned, that wasn't the case here.

Sam made sure to retrieve his brother's fake FBI ID from his suit jacket before he was out of the car almost before the car stopped completely, running towards the ER entrance to fetch a nurse with a gurney. Jogging back to the passenger door, two male nurses and a doctor in tow, Sam opened the car's door and moved aside, giving the rushing medical team room to work.

In a manner he was so accustomed to, but made his stomach sink to his knees every time nevertheless, the younger Winchester walked in wide strides, matching those of the team around him, beside the moving gurney with Dean on top of it as he started to explain the backup story for what happened.

"We were supposed to meet this afternoon and when I dropped by his house I heard a crash and when I came in I found him like this on the floor." Sam stared at Dean's too still and pale face.

"What's his name?" A female nurse he didn't notice before asked.

"Dean." Sam breathed his brother's name, fighting the urge to move past the nurses and doctors to get to his brother's side.

"Alright, Mr.—?" The nurse turned to him.

"Sam," He supplied.

"Alright, Sam," Her tone was gentle but still professional. "Why don't you stay in the waiting room and fill some forms 'till we check your friend out?"

"Is he gonna be okay?" He knew that the nurse couldn't know the answer to his question given that her only part in attending to his brother's injuries so far was to make sure Sam didn't interrupt the doctors' work, still he couldn't help but ask.

"We'll do our best," She smiled a little. "He's in good hands."

And with that she was gone, following the others and turning around a corner where Sam could no longer keep his eyes on his brother.

He turned around in the direction of yet another waiting room and almost ran into the blond girl who was standing right behind him.

"Jesus!" Sam flinched back with a startled gasp. He had totally forgotten about Caroline.

Oblivious to Sam's momentary surprise, her eyes stayed in the direction where his brother disappeared a few seconds ago, Caroline echoed his questions, "Is he gonna be okay?"

Sam ran a nervous hand through his hair, tugging a little bit at the hair on the back of his head, and took a deep sigh. Any other time he would have laughed it off, because, it would have been just a busted head, right? Nothing they haven't dealt with before on many and several occasions. This time, though, he couldn't seem to shake off the dread that had settled over him at having his own question echoed back at him. Because it wasn't just a busted head this time, it was the paleness that never left Dean's face recently, his quietness, the way he seemed to spiral out of control day after day ever since he bore down the mark. It was the damn mark on top of everything, and the fact that he had no freaking idea what exactly it was doing to his brother in the first place.

For a second there, the idea of yelling a '_why the hell do you even care?!' _at that blonde standing right in his face and making a scene in the middle of the waiting room, was almost irresistible. Too much bent up emotions and anger at the events that led them to the _here_ and _now _were boiling just underneath the surface and he was barely able to contain the scream of frustration bubbling at the back of his throat. It was a testimony to his self-preservation that he hasn't lashed out and punched the nearest wall, or person, he came across so far.

Instead, the younger brother settled for taking a few deep breaths, counting in his head to ten, before he finally answered the blue-eyed woman's question.

"He's had worse," He couldn't stop the bitterness from slipping into his tone like thick ink. At her look of panic though, he amended, "but he's strong. He's gonna be okay." He wasn't sure which one of them he was trying to convince.

With the hospital admission paper in hand and a job to do, Sam turned and walked into the waiting room, cramming his long frame into one of the orange, uncomfortable plastic chairs. A moment later he felt more than saw Caroline sit in the chair beside him. He raised his eyes off the blurry lines of the papers to throw a quick glance in her direction and for the first time he could see her narrow frame shaking. He kept his eyes on her as she tucked a long, wild strand of hair behind her ear with a trembling hand and wide eyes turned to stare back at him. And it hit him just then that she was as much of a victim herself as Dean was.

Sam's brain seemed to click back into action, catching up with him and taking everything in instead of the laser-focus concentration it has been settling on for the last hour on the only thing that mattered at the moment; taking care of Dean.

"Hey, are you okay?" He finally asked, giving her a tiny smile. She smiled back and nodded shakily. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" He pressed, remembering the fact that she was possessed and he was the one who knocked her out after all. "Don't you think you should let a doctor check you out or something? You seem pretty shaken up." He added the last line when she started shaking her head.

He watched her right hand come up to wipe her pale face and go up father to smooth her hair away from her forehead. She chuckled humorously, still shaking her head.

"No one of the doctors is going to be able to fix what I did." She finally said, looking small and defeated.

At that, Sam turned fully in his chair to face her. "Hey, I told you that wasn't your fault." He said gently, giving her what Dean would definitely call his best "puppy dog eyes" look.

"I know," She sighed heavily, looking away and leaning her body back to rest against the uncomfortable chair. She rested her head against the wall behind her before she finally spoke again, Sam waiting her out. He knew how to deal with a traumatized victim all too well.

"Still, it doesn't change the fact that _I'm_ the one who killed the woman who showed me nothing but kindness, that _I'm_ the reason we're _here_!" She whispered, raising her hand to point at where the doctors wheeled Dean—he quickly looked at his watch—half an hour ago.

"Look," Sam said sternly, he really didn't have it in him to comfort anyone right now that wasn't his brother—whom, speaking of which, what the hell was taking the doctors so long anyway?!—but as he saw her flinch slightly at his tone, he softened it down a little bit. "Look, I'm really sorry that this had to happen to you. I know that it's not fair and that nothing I would say would make it better, but you really have to believe me when I say that it wasn't your fault. If anything, and I'm really sorry to say this, but if it wasn't for the poor woman's kid we wouldn't be here right now. I'm sorry we weren't fast enough and we weren't able to save her, but that's just how it is sometimes. Life is cruel and the only thing we can hope for is that she's in a better place right now, maybe even with her daughter." He threw in the last part for Caroline's sake, not really believing it himself, and took a deep breath. _And that my brother would be okay. _He prayed silently.

Looking like she finally accepted that fact, or partially anyway, she nodded solemnly at him and sank farther into her chair.

Sam nodded to himself and turned his attention to the papers as they both fell silent and waited.

….

It was another half an hour of Sam fidgeting and pacing the small waiting room like a caged animal when someone finally showed up to tell him what was going on.

"He has a broken rib and another fractured two, but thankfully it didn't puncture his lung or heart. He suffered from a severe concussion and several cuts on his head, he was very dehydrated but that's been taken care of, and his heart rate was very erratic when he came here, which we weren't able to know why, yet, but we were able to stabilize him so there's nothing to be worried about for now, should he rest probably he'll be able to recover quickly and be as good as new in no time." Dean's doctor said after she introduced herself, standing a few inches away from Sam while Caroline still sat on her chair between the two of them. "The only concern in the meantime, though, is his right arm. We found a burn on the inside of his forearm that we can't identify what exactly caused yet but we'll be treating it all the same. There was also a large piece of glass imbedded in his right balm, we took that out, fixed all the damage that we could find but we still won't be able to tell for sure if there's any nerve damage to his hand until he wakes up."

Sam's knees almost buckled with relief when the all too familiar line "if he wakes up," didn't follow the doctor's speech. "Can I see him?" His voice shook but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Yes, of course." The doctor said cheerfully, smiling at him. "He's still asleep, though. And seeing a familiar face when he wakes up would probably be a good thing." He shook the doctor's hand as she told him that a nurse would be there to show him to his friend's room but as she was turning to leave she stopped suddenly and turned to look at him with sympathy in her eyes. "Oh, by the way, the cops will be here soon to ask you and your friend a couple of questions about what happened."

_Shit. _

….

An hour later, Sam was sitting by his brother's bed in a darkened, private room. Dean looked pale and fragile, lying so still on the hospital bed even though Sam knew that his injuries—for them—were minor. He had an IV line running into the back of his left hand—saline and antibiotics, the nurse had said—and thick bandages was covering half of his forehead, another wrapped around his right hand and he knew there was a third one wrapped around his brother's chest under the hospital's gown.

When he left the waiting room to go see his brother, Caroline was still sitting there. He had thanked her for staying and since that they were assured that Dean was going to be okay she could go home. He had bit his tongue when her face fell slightly and saw tears fill her eyes, remembering that her "home" currently had its owner lying dead in its living room which was probably filled with cops by now. She had saved him the apology he was about to utter, smiled and shook her head.

"It's okay," She had said in a shaky voice before clearing her throat. "I would like to stay here for a little longer if that's okay with you?" And he couldn't say no. She had told him she was going to fetch something from the cafeteria, give him time with his brother, and if she could bring him something with her as well. Coffee would be great. He had said before he smiled at her and went into Dean's room.

That was almost forty-five minutes ago and neither Dean woke up nor did Caroline show up. He sighed and started talking to Dean again, trying to wake him up; he knew they had to flee very soon, the cops would be here any minute and the doctors were still looking into what caused the burn on Dean's forearm, aka _The fucking Mark_, and they couldn't afford any setbacks right now.

A light knock on the open door interrupted his musing and he looked up and found the blonde standing at the room's threshold, two cups of coffee in her hands, and her eyes staring at the still figure on the bed and he wasn't sure how to feel about a stranger seeing his brother like that, Dean though would be pissed for sure, that much he knew.

"Come on in," He finally said, deciding that he couldn't just leave her standing there or take the coffee and tell her to go, even for a hunter, that would be rude. She looked back at him, her eyes still wide but her lips were trying to maintain a small hesitant smile.

She walked inside, her eyes going back and forth between him and his brother, as if she was afraid of what he would do if she stared at Dean for too long and weren't able to not look in the same time. Sam rose to his feet and met her at the end of Dean's bed to take the coffee. He took his cup, offering her a quiet thanks and was about to raise it to his mouth when he saw the dried blood on his fingers, Dean's blood.

His hand shook slightly as he turned around to put the cup on the small table besides Dean's bed. Dean's blood was on his hand. He really needed to wash them. Now.

"How's he doing?" Her whisper cut through the tiny panic attack he was having eternally and he tore his eyes away from the red substance on his fingers to look at her. She was still staring at Dean and he couldn't help but stare too and amidst it all he wondered what Dean would feel like if he woke up right now and saw the both of them staring at him with wide-eyes as if he was a freak of nature.

"He's okay, mostly." Sam whispered back and a thought popped inside his head. "Would you mind watching him for a sec while I go to the bathroom?"

At her shocked face he added, "I really need to use the bathroom and I don't want him to wake up alone if I'm not back yet." He raised his hand and could tell she saw the blood, a second later she nodded vehemently.

….

She found herself alone with him for the third time since she had met him; just the two of them, no one around acting like a buffer for the awkward tension between them, while his brother went to the bathroom and confined in _her_ to stay with the man whom _she _had hurt.

The quietness and stillness were too strange unlike the other two times when they were alone together which were too loud, too frightening and too hurting, and she didn't know what to do with it. He looked too small and vulnerable, much like he looked like back in the house when he and his brother had been interviewing Mrs. Davis. Her breath hitched at the too fresh memory and she shook her head as if she could shake off the thought along with it.

Sam was right; she didn't fully understand what happened, other than that she wasn't in one bit of control of her body when her hands were killing the old woman who opened her arms for her. But it was like she was pushed to the back of her mind, in a dark corner where she couldn't move or speak but only watch the thing that took over her body hurt the people in the room instead.

Hurt the man who was now lying on bed and not moving, who was suffering because of her, the man whom she _wanted_ to suffer once before.

But that was before.

Something was different about him this time, it was like he was a completely another person than the confident, careless, hot but _dick_ she had met at the first time, the person who had too much in common with _Damon_.

She shook her head again, she didn't want to go there—she didn't want to _ever_ go there.

Caroline moved closer to the bed, putting her coffee next to Sam's on the tiny counter and stood next to the bed, staring down at his pale features and she almost raised her hand to touch the cuts on his face, to smooth the frown on his forehead before he stirred and groaned softly. His eyes fluttered but they didn't open and she turned and was about to go search for the bathroom Sam had said was right down the floor's corridor to let him know that his brother was waking up when a hoarse, "Caroline?" stopped her in her track.

She turned around and found a set of bright, green eyes looking at her quizzically. Not sure how to react, her eyes went back and forth between the man on bed and the room's door where Sam had went out, and when the later didn't come through the door, her mind was made up.

She turned to look at him, and whispered, "Hey," well aware of the headache he must be nursing right now. "How're you feeling?" She asked as if they were the world's best buddies and not trying to hurt each other for the last two times they were alone together.

Dean kept staring at her as if she'd grown a second head, _and what did she expect anyway?_ She sighed and sat in the chair Sam had vacated few minutes ago, Dean's eyes never leaving her.

"You're in a hospital," She began quietly, deciding to steer away from any possible personal discussion, not that he was aware enough for any but you could never be too careful. "You hurt your head pretty bad and the doctor said you have a concussion, a broken rib, a couple cracked others and a deep cut in your right hand. Oh, also a strange burn they still don't know what caused it."

She smiled a little, trying not to freak out and keep her voice down for his sake. She had a loud tone; she knew that, her friends always complained a lot about how high-pitched and perky her tone was. Dean on the other hand looked confused enough and like he didn't hear any word of what she just said.

"Caroline?" He repeated, squinting at her. It was dark in the room, the blinds shut, no lamps were on except for the dim one above his head and the faint light from the hospitals corridor outside the room.

"Yeah, it's me." She replied, smiling hopefully.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, and finally he moved his eyes away, taking in his surroundings, searching the room as if looking for something. When obviously he didn't find it, he started to get agitated and tried to set up in the bed and panted, "Where's Sam?"

Caroline rose from her chair to stop him before he could hurt himself any further, "No no no, stop. You're gonna hurt yourself!" She hovered above him, not sure what to do, where to touch, if she even had the right to touch him. "He's in the bathroom; he'll be here in a sec. Just don't move." But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as he put his weight onto his right arm and she moved forward when he cried out in surprise and pain once he started pushing himself up, holding his shoulder by instinct and easing up his fall onto the bed.

Not messing his slight flinch when she touched him, not sure whether she was causing him pain or something else, she moved her hands away and took two steps back.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She didn't really know what she was apologizing for, for freaking him out or for hurting him just now or being the reason why he was hurt in the first place or that she had electrocuted him a day before without hearing him out when he seemed so desperate for her to listen.

"Where's Sam?" He asked again, and she felt a lump forming in her throat at the pain and fear in his tone.

"I'm here," Her eyes turned to look at the figure that came rushing through the door, saving her from her thoughts. "I'm here, Dean." Sam moved past her towards his brother's side and slipped his hand into his brother's left unconsciously, and she saw Dean returning the grip even tighter and his breathing starting to get less agitated.

"Hey, are you in pain? Do you need me to call the nurse? Did something happen to him?" The last question was fired into her direction and she felt like a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm okay,"

"He was trying to get up but couldn't and was in too much pain."

Both Dean and Caroline said in the same time and Sam groaned. He reached out with the hand that wasn't holding onto Dean and pressed the nurse's button.

"Sam, I'm okay, I don't need any—" Dean started protesting, his whole focus on his brother as if he had forgotten that Caroline stood there and she felt like she was intruding into something she wasn't supposed to witness.

"Yeah, and I'm not taller than you." Sam volleyed back lightly, obviously trying to distract Dean from the pain that he was too obviously in.

"Sam, we need to get out of here and I can't if I'm all drugged up I can't see two feet in front of me!" Dean was saying from between clenched teeth and Caroline's jaw almost dropped. He couldn't be serious. She thought.

But before she could say anything, a nurse came into the room asking what was wrong with her patient and after Sam told her she was gone again with the promise that she would be back in a second with something for the pain and a doctor to check him out.

"Sam!" Dean yelled at his brother the second the nurse left the room and squeezed his eyes shut against what Caroline guessed was the onslaught of pain in his head.

"I know!" Sam snapped and she saw Dean squeeze his eyes and the hand around Sam's tighter. "Sorry, sorry. I know Dean, but I can't get you out of here with you not being able to see at all because you're blinded by too much pain!" He said in a hushed tone, shouting the last part in a whisper.

The nurse was back with the a doctor as promised and after he checked Dean's vitals and decided that there was indeed a nerve damage to his right hand, though minimum and with a couple sessions of therapy he would regain full use of his hand again, the room seemed to breathe in relief, including Caroline who was fully aware that she shouldn't be there but still couldn't bring herself to leave.

With the painkiller successfully injected into Dean's IV line and instructions to rest, the doctor and the nurse were gone and Caroline turned towards them to find Sam helping a still-in-pain Dean up and out of the bed.

"What are you doing?" She moved forward, forgetting to keep her voice down and winced at Dean's wince.

"Getting the hell outta dodge," He answered her in a tired voice and she looked up at Sam who was giving her what could only be described as a sad smile with a hint of irritation.

"But you're hurt! You can't leave the hospital!" She lowered her voice this time, wide eyes taking the brothers in as Sam kept his hands on Dean's shaking shoulders who had his head lowered and was holding onto the edge of the bed in white-knuckling grips like it was the only thing keeping him from falling.

"Caroline, we really appreciate the concern but we've been doing this our whole life so we know what we're doing." When she didn't answer he sighed. "Look, I'm aware that my brother's hurt real bad," He went on, ignoring Dean's weak 'right here people'. "but we can't risk being here for too long, the cops will be here soon and we can't exactly explain what happened to them without being either arrested for attempted murder or locked up in a mental house, so will you help us, please?"

Of course she was going to help them, regardless of everything, they still saved her life. "What do you want me to do?"

Sam smiled thankfully at her. "Just… don't mention us. If you ever get questioned about what happened back there, tell them anything but don't mention us. Can you do that for us please?"

"Of course, yeah." She promised and he nodded back.

There was an awkward silence while Sam still looked at her before he finally said, "Would you mind?" and gestured with his head towards Dean who up until now didn't make any sound.

"Mind what?" She asked, confused but then blushed in embarrassment when she realized what he was asking from her. "Of course, yeah, yeah, I'm sorry. I'll just leave you guys to get ready—or whatever."

She turned away and was about to leave when she heard him calling for her and her heart sank to her stomach for some reason she didn't even know. Maybe because he was lucid enough now and it was too real, she didn't really know.

"Um, yeah?" She turned back, putting her arms around herself in a defensive gesture she wasn't really aware of. He was on his feet now, half turned in her direction while Sam supported him.

"Can we—uh—can we talk? I mean, later. Can we meet somewhere and talk?" He asked awkwardly, not looking directly into her eyes. "I mean, if it's not going to be too much trouble for you or anything." He added hurriedly.

"Yeah," She answered before she could even think, because she did want to talk, too. She still needed to understand the whole story of what happened and she needed to apologize to him for what she did. "Yeah, sure."

They both nodded at each other and stood still, no one added any further information about how or where they would meet again, apparently too overwhelmed by the situation.

It was Sam who finally broke the silence and cleared his throat. "Okay, guys, we need to hurry up here." He looked at Dean first then looked at her. "We'll call you and let you know where we're staying so you can come over and you guys can chat as long as you want."

"Sure," She said too cheerfully and almost wanted to slap herself. Caroline Forbes did not do awkward very well. "I'll just go ho—" The cheerfulness in her tone dropped dramatically as she remembered that she no longer had a place to go. "Well, to a motel or something. I'll see ya." She smiled tightly, trying to hide the tears that were now blurring her vision.

Sam stared at her for a second before she saw Dean nudge him in the ribs. They both shared a look that seemed to hold a whole conversation in it before Sam nodded and looked back at her.

"Hey, why don't you wait by the car and we can drop you off somewhere? A motel or something." The taller man said, smiling kindly and giving her that puppy-eyes looking look again.

Something eased inside her and she found herself nodding. She knew the second she walked out of this room she would go back to being alone all over again, and it was hard enough before she lost someone dear to her on top of it, and the thought alone was unbearable.

"You guys have a place here?" She asked curiously and was rewarded with a matching snort from both brothers.

"No, we're staying at a motel." Sam said, tilting his head and his eyes seemed to study her. She shifted from foot to foot under his gaze.

"Okay, I'll go wait for you by the car." She said finally and turned around, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

And for some reason she felt a tiny sparkle of something warm in her chest.

It felt like _hope. _

**_TBC.._**

* * *

~Aya


	10. 9 - In The Dead Of Night

**Unbeta'd:** All mistakes are mine.

_**Then,**_

Following a murder case, Sam and Dean arrived in town to investigate when Dean ran into Caroline, whom he had hurt physically and emotionally back when he was a demon. Solving the case proved to be harder than they thought, given that Caroline was connected to the mother's spirit that they were up against. From that point things took a really bad turn before they started getting a little better: Caroline got possessed by the spirit in question and killed Mrs. Davis, attacking and hurting Dean in the process before Sam managed to get rid of the ghost and take his brother to a hospital with Caroline insisting to ride along. Dean and Caroline had a small talk after Dean was finally conscious enough for Sam to bust him out of the hospital before they got caught. He asked her if they could talk and she agreed to ride along with the Winchester after Sam offered her a ride.

* * *

9 - In the Dead Of Night

_**Now,**_

It was past two hours before midnight when Sam had finally decided to stop the car despite Dean's continuous protests.

They only had a couple of hours left to drive back to the bunker but after the several times Dean had asked Sam to stop the car and barely made it in time to open the passenger seat door to hurl on the gravel on the side of the road, his mind was made. Maneuvering the black muscled car to a stop in front of yet another nameless motel on the skirts of the last town they had passed, Sam turned in his seat to check on his sleeping company. He checked on Dean first, who was slumped against the window, his not so even breathing fogging up the window beside his head. Feeling for a pulse before he could stop himself, Sam let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding then he completely turned his body to check on the sleeping blond who was occupying almost the same position as his brother in the back seat.

Sighing to himself, Sam, being the only sober man in this silent trip, gave himself a moment to stretch his long frame out once he was out of the car and glanced at the two, seemingly peacefully sleeping figures one more time before he headed to the motel's dimly lightened office.

Not sure what their female company would feel about adjoined rooms, and not having the heart to wake her up yet to ask her about her preference, he paid for the rooms anyway, thinking it would be safer this way and easier for him to keep an eye on Dean and the exhausted blonde just in case.

When he got back to the car he found that she was awake and squinting around at the empty parking lot, probably trying to figure out where she was. It was only when he got closer to the car that he noticed she was actually looking for him from the way her expression relaxed when she finally spotted him, then he noticed her slim fingers that were lightly touching his brother's shoulder. Once Sam got into the car though, she withdrew her hand quickly, looking almost scared before she whispered, "He was starting to wake up. And I think he was in pain because .. And I was just trying to ...," she stammered and Sam shook his head reassuringly at her. Whatever she was trying to do to ease his brother's pain had obviously worked since Dean was still asleep.

"It's okay," He put the care into motion, driving the short distance to where their rooms were waiting. By the time Sam had gotten out of the car and rounded the car, Dean was still asleep while Caroline stood awkwardly by the car with her hands in her back pockets, looking unsure about herself or what she was supposed to do.

"I got you an adjoined room with ours. I hope that's okay with you." Sam told her as she withdrew one of her hands out of her pocket to take the key from him.

"Yeah, I don't mind it. Thank you." She gave him a small smile which he returned and moved towards the passenger seat.

Mindful of the way Dean's body was pressed against the door, Sam opened it carefully, reaching a hand and keeping Dean in position before he could fall out of his seat. The older Winchester's body seemed to shudder under Sam's touch which was enough to raise him up from his slumber.

"Sam?" It was more like a moan but, still, Sam heard the disorientation in his brother's tone.

"I'm here, Dean." At that Dean's eyes fluttered open. They were glassy and unfocused, looking blankly at Sam.

"Hey, man. That's our stop for the night, ready to get out of the car and go to our room?" With that comprehension sparkled in Dean's eyes. He looked above Sam's shoulder at the motel, before his eyes cached Caroline standing by the car and back to his brother again.

"Man, couldn't you just keep going instead?" Dean groaned, his words slurring into each other and Sam knew no matter how many times he told his brother that his body needed the break, it would be as much as talking to a freaking wall. So he played the younger brother's card instead, knowing for a fact that Dean wouldn't hesitate as long as Sam was concerned.

"Man, I am beat. And unless you're fit to drive us the rest of the way without wrapping the car around a tree, I need a couple hours of shut eyes."

And right on cue, Dean was starting to drag his legs outside the car. "Low blow, bitch."

"Whatever, jerk."

Dean swayed once he was upright, but Sam was there to slip his long arm beneath Dean's left elbow where he wouldn't put much pressure on his abused ribs. Caroline's instinct half step forward before Sam took his position beside his brother didn't go unnoticed by him though. It wasn't easy, getting a groggy, stubborn Dean into their room and on his bed, but eventually, and after a few well-timed curses from Dean, they were able to do it.

Caroline was still waiting beside the car when he was back for their bags, thankfully giving the brothers the privacy they needed. Sam opened the trunk and hauled out his laptop and both his and Dean's duffel bags in one hand, Caroline's and their weapons bag in the other, ignoring the blonde's ongoing protest. When Caroline blocked his way and said that she wouldn't move till morning if she had to unless he gave her at least her bag to carry, Sam couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that, so far, she was just as stubborn as his brother. He shook his head amusingly.

At the end, they walked towards their rooms with Caroline carrying her bag _and_ Sam's laptop.

They had stopped at the mall on their way long enough for Caroline to pick up some new clothes since they couldn't go back to where she had originally lived at Mrs. Davis house, where cops would be filling the place by then. They took turns; Sam staying in the Car with a semi-awake Dean who kept asking why they stopped at the mall of all places, and went to the pharmacy to fill Dean's prescription while Caroline stayed with a sleeping Dean.

When they reached the rooms, Caroline handed Sam his laptop and thanked him again for helping her, said goodnight and opened the joined door to her room after her gaze fell briefly on the sleeping figure of Dean on the bed.

….

It was after midnight and she still couldn't sleep.

She took a long shower once she had spotted the bathroom, the smell of the road and hospital and the remnant of the salt Sam had bored into her throat many hours ago was long gone from the strands of her hair and body, but no amount of scrubbing could wash off the tingling feeling just underneath her skin that accompanied the knowledge that she had been, not only _possessed, _but had actually _killed_ someone too.

Heaving a sigh, Caroline tossed and turned in her uncomfortable bed for the umpteenth time. The soft light of the digital clock on the nightstand almost mocked her by declaring the fact that it was twenty-three past one in the morning. She took her cell phone from where it stayed silently beside the clock and scrolled through her contacts.

It's been a while since she had made any contact with her mother. She was used to calling or sending her a text twice-a-month to let her know that she was doing okay and they would talk for hours. After the first three months, her mother stopped asking her when she was coming back to her hometown—Mystic Falls.

Going with the flow she had majored in pre-med after she began attending Whitmore collage with her best friends Elena and Bonnie, who wanted to be doctors, thinking that being a doctor would be as good career as any. A few months of collage later though, she felt mature enough to go after her own dreams and not her friends' anymore.

And so, she moved back to Mystic Falls, trying to figure out who she was. It took her a long time of brooding in her own house and stumbling between jobs. She even considered joining her mother in the line of law enforcement, figuring that since her own mother was the Sheriff of the county, it would make her a fast learner and so a better candidate.

Eventually though, and after six years of hard work, Caroline turned twenty-seven on the night she was honored as the youngest and most successful event planner in Mystic Falls.

A month later, Damon happened.

A muffled thud followed by a hiss, a grunt and a curse cut into her train of memories and she thanked God for it. Then she cringed when the voices of the brothers arguing came through the thin walls of the adjoined rooms.

Giving up on sleep, Caroline stood up and walked towards the door separating her room from the brothers and waited until the noises ceased. Five minutes later, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing on the other side. Curious, the blonde put her brand new sleeping robe on and walked outside.

She took a moment to breathe in the cool, fresh air of predawn before she turned her head to look at a—what she supposed was a miserable Sam by the frown on his face—who was leaning against the wall of their room, arms crossed at the chest with his eyes closed.

By the way he was still leaning against the wall, it didn't seem to her like he had heard her door opening and closing, and not wanting to startle him, Caroline cleared her throat. His response was immediate.

"I just need a minute." He said as if he had known she was standing there all along. And for some reason she thought he kind of did.

She nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her. After a few minutes of almost comfortable silent, Sam finally spoke.

"I'm sorry," He said on a sigh and she started shaking her head. "He's so stubborn it makes me see red sometime." He looked at her briefly and shook his head.

"Is he okay? I heard something hitting the floor." She said on an almost a whisper.

Sam looked at her for a couple of minutes, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was calculating something, assisting her, trying to figure whether he should trust her or not. And she almost fidgeted under his stern gaze.

He gave her a small smile finally, looking like he had come to a conclusion in his mind. "No, not really. He's injured and he's being stupid enough not letting me help."

Caroline took a step forward, leaning against the same wall he was leaning against.

"Hey," She spoke slowly, trying to infuse confidence and assurance in her tone. "I may not know your brother, but he is a man. And men's ego is not something that you take lightly."

Sam huffed a laugh and Caroline mentally batted herself on the back.

"Yeah, well." He looked at her again before he turned his head to look at the night. "You're totally right."

She smiled and turned her gaze to the almost pitch black parking lot, save the couple lightning columns on the far end.

They stood silently for a couple more moments before Caroline finally asked the question that has been nagging on her all day long.

"So, this is what you and your brother do?"

"I was wondering when you were going to ask that." Sam said on a smile and it encouraged her.

"So this is what you guys do. Busting ghosts." She spoke the words out loud, trying to taste how crazy they were. Yet, not as crazy as one would have thought.

"Basically, yeah." Sam said automatically, showing how many times they must have been asked the same question over and over again. "Spirits, ghouls, werewolves, vampires, demons. Basically every evil thing you could think of on the planet."

"Vampires?" Caroline gasped, her whole body tensing. Could it be real? Could _he_ have been real?

Oblivious to the sudden crushing feelings going on inside Caroline, Sam carried on amusingly. "Pfft, we had the same reaction when we first found that they existed. Dean couldn't shut up about it."

The torrent of thoughts running in her mind kept her from responding for a long moment, enough to misguide Sam to the wrong conclusion.

"Hey, I know it's a lot to take in." Sam said in a kind tone, turning his whole body to look at her. "It's the truth though, the world is filled with darkness but we try our best every day to make it a better place for everybody—for you."

At that she looked at him. And unprompted, she asked.

"Is-is Dean a _vampire_?"

And Sam's reaction was incredulous. "What?!"

It would have made sense. She had called Damon a _monster_, but he could have been a true-to-form monster. And Dean? Everything aside, wasn't it the same? Didn't it all boil down to the same fact? Maybe she didn't know anything about _real_ _vampires_, but she knew that the fake ones like to suck you dry… from your neck.

"What?" Sam exclaimed again, his eyes large, his body coming to fall height, not as relaxed as before. "Of course not! I know that you've been through a lot and that you're confused right now, but Dean's been bleeding and in a hospital all day and he's currently sleeping off too much pain. How the hell could he be a freaking vampire?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." If she wasn't freaking out before, she definitely was on the right track now. "I'm just—you just told me that, that _vampires_ are real and I—your brother, he-he _bit_ me and now you said that- and I can't not ask and I just—"

"Hey, hey, Caroline. Look at me." She shook her head and almost jumped when big hands grabbed her shaking shoulders. "Look at me!"

She looked up and was met with reassuring, hazel eyes. She looked straight at them, trying to calm herself down, only then noticing that she wasn't steady on her feet.

"Hey, I'm sorry I yelled like that. And I should've known where your mind would go." When she tilted her head at that he sighed. "Dean told me what he did to you."

At that, she nodded, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye and she took a step back, shrugging his hands off and leaning against the wall.

"He told you?" She looked at him, more confused than petrified.

"Yeah," Sam said softly. "After you first met at the dinner, he was pretty shaken up and he-he told me what happened between you two."

"Why then?" She wiped her tear away.

"Why what?"

"Why did he do this to me if he's not a _monster_?" She whispered the last word and saw the color drain from the tall man's face in front of her. Nothing made sense to her anymore.

"Dean, he—uh," Sam looked away, looking heartbroken and shook his head. "He wasn't himself; you have to trust me on that."

"He was possessed? Like I was?" She pushed, needing to know, wanting to believe that it wasn't just him, that the man she saw this time wasn't _human_ back then, that underneath the bad, there was good.

Sam nodded. "Something like that, but it's not my story to tell." He smiled sadly at her. "He really wants to talk to you, and this time I hope you will listen."

Nodding back and then shaking her head again, Caroline rubbed her hand on her face and ended going through her hair. "That's what he said the other day, too." She looked at Sam. "Before I tased him."

Before Sam could respond to that, a loud scream of "_SAM"_ rang across the whole parking lot and made both of them jump. Before she knew it, Sam was out of her sight and barreling back inside his and his brother's room, Caroline hot on his heels.

"Wait!" She shouted but the second she stepped into the brothers' room she froze at the doorsteps.

Dean was writhing and shaking on the bed, both hands curled into tight fists beside him, the injured one bleeding onto the sheets, which were drenched in sweat as well as the upper half of his body that was visibly shaken in the yellowish light of the lamp on the nightstand beside him that Sam had turned on.

"Dean! It's okay, it's just a dream, Dean." She watched in a mix of anxiousness and amazement as Sam kept on talking to his brother until the words seemed to reach to him in the fog of the nightmare that was currently holding him captive.

Gradually, Dean's shrieks quieted down and only the whispers of '_No_' broke the dead silence of the night. Finally the fists curled into the sheets loosened up and Caroline heard Sam sigh in relief as the other man's breath evened out.

The sound of Sam clearing his throat made her realize that she was staring at the man on the bed and she blushed in embarrassment and turned her eyes away.

"It's almost three in the morning," Sam said quietly, looking at his watch. "Maybe we should all try to get some rest before we head back on the road in the morning."

"Yeah, maybe we should." Smiling tightly, Caroline shrugged and turned to leave, both of them trying to pretend that they hadn't just witnessed Dean's vulnerability in stark relief.

….

* * *

_**TBC .. **_


	11. Take a Breath

_**A/N: **_I'm SO incredibly sorry for updating so late, I'm graduating from collage this year and life tend to get in the way of written *sigh*.

Thanks to everyone who stuck with me so far and everyone who still reviews and leaves alerts of any kind, you keep me going :)

Now, onto the story, I hope you haven't forgotten what happened yet!

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**10 – Take a Breath**

Morning found Dean lying in bed on his back, shivering and grunting. He turned his head to look at the digital clock on the small nightstand beside his bed. 8:06 am, Damn! The pressure inside his chest must have woken him up. Sighing, Dean steeled himself and rolled to his left side and gasped as every cut and bruise on his body made themselves known. The pain forced sleep and grogginess to the back of his head and made it to the top of Dean's priorities. He waited until the pain in his ribs subsided a little before he propped himself on his elbow, planted his right palm on the gritty surface of the sheet and hauled his body up in a sitting position. Big mistake.

"Ow! Son of—" Gritting his teeth and trapping more curses to not wake his brother up, Dean closed his eyes against the spinning of the room and took a minute to breathe in slowly. Once he got the trembling of his body somewhat under control, he raised his right hand up to inspect it closely. Upon seeing the thick bandage that was wrapped neatly around his palm, he remembered why it felt like every nerve in his hand was on fire. He tried to flex his fingers gradually and let out a breath of relief he didn't realize he was holding when he could move his fingers. Still, he grunted when he tried to make a fist.

Okay, maybe too soon, he thought, trying to peek under the bandage to get a closer look on the wound but experience of a lifetime of dealing with injuries assured him that it was just a deep cut, and no nerves were damaged.

Moving on to the next step of his mission to get up, go to the bathroom, and take a couple of painkillers proved to be more challenging than he expected. He didn't know why he was so exhausted or why his body felt so weak and a _hurt_ on a scale from one to ten. It wasn't like he had never broken a few ribs and cracked his skull open before. It was more like a paper cut considering their history. Either way, he wasn't going to dwell on it, not when he really couldn't understand whatever the mark was doing to him or his body anymore, and certainly not when his body was screaming at him to do something to smother the pain.

When he finally made it to his feet, he used the support of whatever he could lean his body against and made his way to the bathroom as quietly and with minimum pain as possible. Intentionally avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror, he spotted the first-aid kit on the counter beside the sink and it didn't take him a lot of rummaging inside it to find what he was looking for. He popped three pills of the strongest painkillers they had in his mouth before pausing to add another one for good measure and chased them with a swallow of water from the tap.

Mission accomplished, he turned and moved his body carefully back to the room where he found his brother's bed empty. Huh. No wonder Sam didn't wake up after all the noises Dean had made since the second he had opened his eyes. His brother wasn't in bed, to begin with. It was eight in the morning; he remembered waking up in the middle of the night to take a leak only to fall over and Sam breaking his fall before he face-planted on the hard floor, but he wasn't sure what time that was exactly. That and Sam waking him every five minutes, it seemed, to ask him who he was and what year and who was the current president.

Did Sam have any sleep at all? He wondered, regarding the room and noticing that all their stuff were packed and ready on the small table, except for a fresh set of clothes and their first-aid kit, apparently.

Dean decided he would give his brother some much-deserved, alone time while he showered and got ready for the road then he would call him if he hasn't come back yet from wherever he was.

His morning routine took longer than usual due to his slow, uncoordinated movements and the multiple bandages that he didn't want to get wet, and by the time he was done and freshly dressed he was shaking but successful regardless.

He stepped back into the room where Sam still didn't show up, but before he could reach his phone he heard his brother's muffled voice nearby. He put on his jacket and moved closer to the door that separated their room from the one next door—and why the hell did Sam get them an adjacent room with somebody else in the first place?—and made sure that, yeah, it was definitely his brother. Did Sam get them separate rooms last night? Did he prefer to sleep in another room instead of the one he was in? Dean swallowed hard.

Did he finally succeed in scaring away his own brother?

Before even darker thoughts could make their way up to the surface, he heard another voice coming from the other side. Feminine voice. _Caroline._

Dean let his head fall in relief against the wall next to the door that concealed him from the people next room.

_The diner. Taser. Spirit. Hospital. Caroline. _

He remembered now.

Dean quickly straightened up his body and moved away from the door when Sam's voice started to get closer, trying to maintain a more composed posture. Seconds later, his brother opened the door.

"Hey, you're up!" Sam greeted him with a wide smile, if not a little nervous as if he has been caught doing something his older brother wouldn't approve. In that case, talking to Caroline. Not that it really mattered to Dean. Though it kind of made him uncomfortable—he couldn't begin to imagine what kind of a conversation would go between his brother and the woman he had attacked not so long ago.

"Well, aren't you Mr. obvious." Dean greeted back, trying to be his normal self and not completely succeeding, considering the circumstances.

"Hey, Dean," A hesitant Caroline came into view as Sam moved forward and into their room. "I hope you're feeling better today." She added nervously, smiling a little.

Dean's breath caught a little in his chest. He couldn't remember if he had seen her smile before. Sure, they had once flirted and smiled at each other, among other things, but it had all been a part of a mischief play, where sincerity and genuine smiles certainly were not included. And after—after, all that followed were heartbreak, fear, and hatred. He wondered what he had ever done in his life to deserve _her_ smile.

Aware of how long it passed before he could utter an answer, Dean diverted his gaze away and replied in a hushed voice, "Uh, thanks."

"Hey man, you okay?" Of course, Sam would feel the need to ask, the supersized, mother-fucking-hen Sasquatch!

"Yeah, I'm fine." He replied needlessly. He wasn't fine and he knew that both Sam _and_ Caroline could read him like an open book right now.

He needed to get his shit together.

"So, what are you doing up so early anyway?" He turned to stuff his dirty clothes, which he has been unconsciously squeezing a moment earlier, into his bag, deflecting the attention away from himself and shutting his audience out.

Sam rolled his eyes at him, before he said, "I do get up early. I went to grab some breakfast; you were still asleep so I decided to let you get some rest." He knew Sam was lying about the sleeping part if the dark circles around his tired eyes were any indication, but he didn't call him on it. "And, umm, Caroline was awake and since we both were hungry we ate while waiting for you to wake up." He finished sheepishly, speaking too fast and giving Dean that guilty look again when their eyes met.

Dean ignored him and went into the bathroom to collect the rest of their belonging. "Alright, since we're all up and ready I'm assuming we can hit the road." The older brother said on his way back into the room. "Where the hell are we anyway?" He added as an afterthought.

"'Bout two and half hours away from the bunker," Sam answered, his eyes tracking his every movement. "Just past Alma." He added when Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

Dean nodded. Alma. A three-hour drive by Sam's standards and two by his. Good. It would give him enough time to think of what he would say to her, where to begin, and how much to reveal. Enough time for his wavering mask to slip back in its rightful place.

"You drive then." He started to lean forward to haul his bag off the table but Sam was blocking his way before he could even conceal the wince the movement had caused.

"What are you doing?" Dean resisted the instant, childish _duh_ and just huffed impatiently.

"What does it look like I'm doing, dumbass?" He shot back indignantly. The pain was starting to make him cranky. He was tired and desperate to sit down and put his aching chest, _and _now his head, out of their misery and he didn't have the patience to deal with Sam being… well, _Sam_.

He could hear a hushed '_okaaay_' in the background, followed by the sound of footsteps moving away. He let his shoulders slump a little bit when Caroline wasn't in the room anymore.

Sam, on the other hand, was staring at him with his ultimate bitch-face. "Aren't you gonna at least eat something? I brought breakfast and you sure look like you could use some food and something for the pain."

"Already ahead of you," Dean gave him a lopsided grin and tried to get to his bag again.

"Ah, Dean!" His brother sighed in frustration, his tone underlining the lecture he knew all too well.

"Sam, I'm tired and in pain and really would like if we just go home, okay?!" He cut in, tired enough to not care about revealing how he actually felt or the pitying look Sam was now throwing his way.

Caroline appeared just then with her shopping bags in her hands. She cleared her throat and quietly declared that she was ready.

Dean glanced in her way; she looked nervous but hopeful in a way. Dean still couldn't understand. He took a deep breath.

"Well, if we're all ready then let's go." He turned to Sam, his tone leaving no room for argument.

….

An hour and half of silence later they stopped for gas. Caroline excused herself to go the ladies' room, apparently giving them some room to work out the tension that has been riding with them like a fourth company so far. Dean took off his sunglasses and waited while Sam pumped the Impala's tank full. After he was done, Sam headed to the store without a word and five minutes later he came back with two plastic bags, thrusting the lighter one at Dean once he was behind the wheel.

Watching his brother all along, Dean was a little bit startled when the bag fell into his lap. He checked its content and found a big pack of M&amp;M's and other different types of Dean's favorite candies.

"You're pale and shaky and I bet the three or four pills you've taken are already wearing off." Sam retrieved a new bottle of painkillers from his pocket and gave it a couple of good shakes. "But not before you eat something." He pocketed it again, not looking at his brother.

Dean smiled sincerely at his little brother's thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam looked at him for a moment, obviously trying to read the level of sincerity in his eyes, before his face relaxed into a smile and nodded.

"So, are you sure it's a good idea to bring Caroline to the bunker?" Sam finally asked the question that Dean knew they both were thinking of since they hit the road from the hospital.

"I don't know," Dean answered honestly, turning to look around the gas station to make sure Caroline wasn't in earshot. "I mean, what difference does it make? Sure, we can head to some random motel, could've _stayed_ at the other one back there actually, or something. But, I just…" He sighed. He didn't really know. "I don't really know, man. I don't even know what I'm gonna tell her. Or how."

"Hey, it'll be okay." Sam, ever the optimistic one, tried to assure him. "Your chances at this conversation are actually better now that _she_ has been actually possessed herself, you know."

Dean gave him a sardonic smile. "Ugh, you know what I mean. I don't mean that I'm _glad_ she's been possessed, I'm just saying now that that had happened, she'll be able to get the whole, you know, demons thing." Sam clarified, voice going soft by the end of the sentence.

"Yeah, the only difference is I _wasn't _possessed." Dean spat and turned his head away to stare out his window.

"It wasn't _you_, Dean. That's all that matters." Sam waited for an answer that he knew wouldn't come. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get to Dean when it was related to the whole 'Demon' thing. And no matter how hard _Dean_ tried, he couldn't make Sam understand that it was all _him_.

"Anyway, I think you're right. It doesn't matter whether it's the bunker or someplace else, it's not like she'd make much of a threat and you will need as much privacy as you can get. It's better this way." Sam moved on to the main topic, hoping he would distract Dean from whatever was going on inside his head.

"_She_ isn't a threat." Dean turned to him after a minute, a contemplating look in his eyes. "But she might be on the run from someone...or something."

He remembered she had called him by the name of someone else when she was panicking. He remembered every second of their encounter. Dean tried to suppress a shudder at the vivid memory and failed miserably.

Sam tilted his head to the side, connecting the dots between his brother's comment and the intense conversation he had had with Caroline the other night. Dean might be right after all.

But when he felt Dean shudder, his decision was already made. "Well, whatever it is, we can deal with it later."

Caroline appeared a second later as if she had had an inkling of how much time the brothers needed. She walked slowly towards the car, stealing a quick look at Dean, who acted like he hadn't noticed, before she got in the backseat.

Sam gave her an acknowledging look through the rearview mirror and passed her a can of diet soda at which she chuckled slightly. The sound drew Dean's eyes to her reflection in the wing mirror on his side.

"Eat your chocolate." Sam's playful tone snapped him out of what felt like a trance. He turned from the mirror to Sam and to the mirror once again, briefly this time. Dean shook his head and dug into his bag.

Sam was right. He did feel shaky.

…..

Caroline stood a few steps behind them while Sam unlocked the door to what the two men kept refereeing to as 'the bunker'. The huge metal door opened with a loud creak and Sam invited her in while Dean glanced at her for a brief moment, just like he had been doing since this morning, before he disappeared inside.

Hesitating, she took a step forward but then stopped. She hadn't planned on coming to these men's house, bunker, or whatever. The fact was she hadn't planned at all; she had just reacted. But now that she was standing on the doorsteps of this creepy place, having no clue what waited inside, fear started rising back in her chest.

How could she trust them? They _did_ save her life, but from what she understood they were just doing their _job_ and she just happened to be in the way.

"Hey, it's alright. I know it looks scary, but I assure you that this is, by far, the safest place on earth." Sam cut through her thoughts. "It's only Dean and me who live down there. Friends stop by sometimes but it's mostly just us. And you don't have to be scared of us." His tone was gentle and open, prompting her to trust him.

The man in front of her seemed to be one of these people who always knew the right thing to say and when to say it. They only had actual conversations a few times, back at the hospital, last night at the motel, and earlier this morning while they were having breakfast and so far he had been willing to answer all her questions, except when it came to his brother. He was either a really understanding person or a really good manipulator.

Still, this was a now-or-never deal, and the other man still owed her an explanation, and she owed him an apology.

It wasn't like there was much of a choice when you didn't want to spend your life wondering. And she has done her share of wondering lately.

…

The _bunker_ was huge from the inside and it only took her a few glances here and there to understand why they called it that. It seemed like there were no windows inside—at least not ones she could see—and it looked more like an army base than an actual house. Still, it was neat, almost antique-like, yet in a sort of a modern way that reminded her of Mystic Falls.

She turned towards Sam, who was putting the bags near one of the libraries and then disappeared inside what appeared to be a hallway after he told her that he would be back in a second and to make herself at home. Dean wasn't in sight, though, he had disappeared by the time she and Sam had descended the stairs.

Caroline didn't know whether she wanted this to not be prolonged even further and to get it over with, or if she wanted to stick around a little bit longer to know more about the brothers. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that the brothers had fascinated her in more than one way. She hadn't witnessed much, but aside from their lifestyle, it was obvious that their relationship was something different—it reminded her of Elena who has been protective of her brother Germy ever since their parents had died in the car accident—but more fierce. And even though she had only really witnessed Sam's protectiveness, it was obvious that it was a two-way street thing and not one-sided like Elena's relationship with her brother.

She almost jumped when Sam's voice rang nearby all of a sudden.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He smiled apologetically and gestured awkwardly with the beer bottle in his hand. "Umm, I don't know if you drink or what..?" He chuckled lamely and she could have sworn she had seen a glimpse of Matt—one of the people who used to be her closest friends—in Sam's eyes.

Caroline couldn't help but wonder that in a different life, maybe different circumstance, _he _could have been one of her closest friends too.

She missed her friends, she missed her mother… she missed her life.

Tears stung the back of her eyes but she covered them quickly by chuckling back. "I'm a big girl; I think I can handle my liquor." She accepted the bottle and turned away from Sam's _too understanding_ gaze.

It was then that Dean finally appeared. He had taken off his jacket and was now only in a navy blue button-up shirt with a plain black shirt underneath it. The sleeves were rolled up to just below the elbows and Caroline caught a glimpse of the burn mark—as the doctors had put it—she had seen before on the inside of his right arm when Dean was in the hospital bed. The missing layer somehow made him look vulnerable and allowed his many bandages to be even more noticeable. Caroline shook her head slightly when a flash of a much more vulnerable version of this man from last night flashed in her mind.

It was a sight she knew she wouldn't forget any time soon.

She turned her eyes away, staring at anything but him and took a long swallow of her beer as if to somehow brace herself.

A couple of awkward minutes passed in silence while, still, no one had said anything until Sam finally broke the silence.

"I'll go put our stuff away," he cleared his throat. "Give you guys a minute."

And then he was gone, but not before he gave her a nod and squeezed his brother's shoulder subtly on his way, leaving her with Dean alone to finally have the long-overdue conversation.

…..

\- **TBC**

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**I'm aware of how evil you think I am right now. **Normally, I, in fact, am evil. except, in this case, I was really planning for them to have the conversation in this chapter, but I had to break the chapter into two because I caught a nasty cold that doesn't agree with writing, like AT ALL. So I think you'll have to wait for it, AGAIN. I'm really sorry, but I will try to post the next chapter very soon. The work is already in progress.

Thank you for your patience!

~Aya S.


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